


Dangers of Working with Ferric Oxide

by XFilesinAMajor



Series: JANE [2]
Category: The Venture Bros
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:21:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 100,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28194636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XFilesinAMajor/pseuds/XFilesinAMajor
Summary: Jane doesn't know how many boring definitions Oxford has for the word “rusty,” but she personally has three.1.	Something that’s covered with oxidized iron, otherwise known as ferric oxide, commonly known as rust2.	Being out of practice at something, for example actually caring about people, or enjoying herself3.	Dr. Thaddeus S. Venture, her boss who somehow thinks she's dating him, and who she's starting to seriously worry might be right
Relationships: Rusty Venture/Original Character(s)
Series: JANE [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2065458
Comments: 6
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 1/4/21 Edit: I've made a few corrections and added in a bit more of Jane's perspective earlier in the narrative.
> 
> ****
> 
> I know this is marked as "Part Two," but IT IS NOT A SEQUEL. So if you wanted a follow-up to Fear of Falling, I owe you an apology. This is essentially an alternate version of the same story.
> 
> See, I sat down to write a particular story, and I think I did a pretty good job at completing that task. But it struck me about halfway through writing it that what I’d set out to write wasn’t quite what the characters WANTED to do. So Fear of Falling was the story I intended to write—but this is the story Jane made me write.

“Miss Chance?” The man with the grey beard read doubtfully off of her resume. It wasn’t a very good resumé. She’d never arched before, she hadn’t finished college, and unless you knew she’d grown up around this kind of stuff, you’d probably think she was just some glorified stripper playing dress-up. She refused to put anything about her family on there, but without that frame of reference she just looked like a newbie.

“That’s right.” She smiled and tugged on her dark braids, trying to look deceptively cute. “I wanted to go with Calamity Jane, but the Guild shut me down on that one.”

The man to his left (her right, since they were seated at a long table facing her) did her the courtesy of a small laugh. “I bet they did!” He leaned over to look at her resumé, too. She should have brought a copy for each of them, but she hadn’t read the ad clearly enough. Stupid, stupid, stupid. “Your specialty is explosives?”

“Yep.” She nodded and smiled again.

The man in the middle—he had to be Dr. Orpheus, the one mentioned in the ad—drummed his fingers on the table. “I mean no offense, but the Order of the Triad is a supernatural organization. Could you explain why you think explosives would be an appropriate foil to us?”

_I dunno, dude, they just put out an ad and I thought I’d give it a shot._ She tugged her hat back just a smidge. “You haven’t seen my bombs.”

“Please.” Orpheus spread his hands in invitation. “Show us.”

The tiny marble she’d just pulled out of her hat band felt cool in her hand. She ran her thumbnail over it. “Don’t mind if I do.” She pitched it toward them, easy underhand, and it landed on the table with a soft clank, setting free a cloud of sparrow-sized mosquitos. They immediately swarmed over the men at the table. Orpheus waved a hand, and they vanished in a flash of color.

She already had another one in her hand and lobbed it under the table instead. For a few seconds, all of them stared at it. The man on the left nudged it with his toe, kicking it back toward her. That was when the flames started spewing out. Everyone in the room felt the heat from them, and the tip of the guy’s boot caught on fire, but besides that and some charring on the floor there was no real damage.

She had another marble in her hand. She held it up between her thumb and forefinger and grinned before throwing it at the men. This one was as more traditional bomb. If the guy on the right hadn’t thrown some sort of purple spell at it, the bits of shrapnel would have shredded the legs and torsos of all three of them. At least, through the bubble of the spell, they could see the explosion. Orpheus winced.

Honestly, she was kind of relieved they’d stopped that one. She didn’t really want to kill these guys during the interview. It wouldn’t get her the job, and it wouldn’t go over well with the Guild, either. She had a couple more marbles on her. As she reached for her hat again, the guy on the left launched himself over the table faster than she was expecting, and she caught a boot squarely in the chest. She spun as she landed, sticking out a foot at the last second. It didn’t take out his knee like she’d hoped, but he had to move quickly again to avoid it. Rather than go for her hat again, she grabbed the marble concealed in her bra, smashed it on the floor, and held her breath.

Less than a second passed before a very satisfying look of discomfort came over all their faces. Orpheus shifted in his seat. The guy standing above her suddenly looked less threatening. The other guy, though, the balding one, went still and relaxed. Oh no, he _didn’t._ She stared at him. He raised an eyebrow. She looked under the table. His chair appeared to be dripping.

“That’s a good trick,” he told her pleasantly. “It took me years to stumble on the chemical combination that’d influence bladder control.” Nonchalantly, he crossed his legs. “I never would’ve thought to aerosolize it.”

She scooted out of the range of the guy who’d kicked her before standing up and taking a breath. She tipped her hat and inclined her head to him. “Lots more where that came from.” There wasn’t. Aside from a few more pyrotechnics and a chloroform bomb, most of her inventory really was more or less standard bombs. But she could always make more if she got the gig.

“Thank you, Miss…” Orpheus looked back down at the piece of paper in front of him and cleared his throat. “Chance, of course. Miss Chance.” He shifted in his seat again. The effects of the last bomb would take a few minutes to wear off, assuming he was determined to hold it that long. She had a feeling they were dismissing her now so they could run to the bathroom. Maybe using that one hadn’t been the best idea, all things considered. Damn it! “We have your resumé here. We will let you know!”

Ugh, like she hadn’t heard that phrase a dozen times before. She managed a civil smile and left through the exit. That put her in a different hallway than the one she’d come in through. This place wasn’t huge by her standard, but it was nothing to sneeze at, either. And she didn’t have the home turf advantage here. She looked around, orienting herself. She’d entered the building from the east side, so it stood to reason she’d find the exit if she headed in the same direction. You’d think, with all the people interviewing for this, they’d have at least set up some arrows or something to help everyone get back out.

She headed east down the hall and found a door. It didn’t have a flashing red exit sign or anything, but her choices were either open it or head back the other direction. She opened it. This looked like a living room, though not one that saw a lot of action. The lights were off, and there were boxes stacked precariously on the coffee table. The sofa was very retro.

Okay, so she’d opened one door and gone from industrial conference building to an old lady’s home. Phenomenal. She was about to retreat, feeling like even more of a failure than she had two minutes ago—couldn’t even find the way out of the building after botching the audition, seriously?—but she heard noises from the other side of the room. There was some light coming through the doorway there.

Nothing ventured, nothing gained, she figured, and walked over to stick my head around the corner.

* * *

The scene outside was fascinating. When he’d come in here to get a glass of water, he’d glanced through the window and seen several of the villains out there attempting to attack the Walking Eye. He’d stood there watching—anxiously at first, as they tore up his yard and targeted his machine, but with increasing satisfaction as it devolved into chaos. Apparently, these petty little antagonists couldn’t abide the thought of their rivals being the one to take down the Eye. One threw a punch, another set off a cloud of purple smoke, and before you knew it he was watching a war zone.

It was so validating, watching them destroy each other over his Walking Eye. He _knew_ it had been a good idea! Look at them falling over themselves, and not a real threat in the lot. He took a seat at the counter, enjoying the entertainment. Today was a good day.

“I’m not going out into that mess,” said an unfamiliar voice behind him, making him spin around in surprise and just barely swallow a shout for help. “You’ve got a back door, right?”

It was a woman, dressed in a skimpy cowgirl outfit, attractive. What was she doing in his kitchen? Oh, of course. The costume made it a dead giveaway. She was one of those imbeciles out there, hoping desperately to land the _super_ impressive gig of bothering Orpheus and his buddies.

“Oh, for goodness sake,” he snapped, put out by the way she’d wandered in and startled him. “Now you people are invading my kitchen?” 

“Hey, not my fault you didn’t have anything to show me the right way out of here.” She lifted one shapely shoulder in a half-shrug before looking back out the window. “Shouldn’t you be out there defending your walking eye from the crazies?” she asked, sounding almost bored by the mayhem playing out on the front lawn. “I mean, you two are clearly an item, right?”

“We’re…” he repeated, trying to follow her line of thought. Ah, okay, she was making a joke. Her face was so impassive it was hard to tell, but there was a sparkle in her eyes that clued him in. She must have been out there in the crowd earlier and seen him washing the Walking Eye. Sounded like she’d been paying _pretty_ close attention. He allowed himself an indulgent smile. “Oh, ha ha, you’re talking about when I was washing it? It was dirty from all that reconnaissance I’ve been using it for, and it’s such a beautiful day, I figured, why wait?” He leaned back in his chair, stretching expansively for her benefit.

“Yes,” she agreed, and this time the left corner of her lips twitched upward at the same time her eyes sparkled. Dark eyes, thick lashes, really very striking. “Why wait until a time when your front lawn wasn’t full of villains looking for a chance to prove themselves? That’d be crazy.”

“Exactly!” Rusty smiled, delighted by her sarcasm. She’d been watching him. She seemed entertained. Alright, so she was probably a villain, but his ego puffed itself up a little bit all the same. A beautiful woman was making jokes with him. “I take it you enjoyed the show.” He stopped short of winking, but she got his meaning alright.

“Oh yeah, totally. I was dying to join in—but damn it, I didn’t bring my bikini along!”

That was, in fact, a much better reaction that he’d expected. Was she _flirting_ with him? Well, of course she was. He was Dr. Venture, after all. “You should have asked,” he purred, lifting his eyebrows suggestively. “Ordinarily I don’t let strangers meddle with my toys, but I think I might have made an exception for you.” There, let her know he was interested, see if she took the bait.

“That’s sweet, but I still didn’t have a change of clothes.” She spread her arms out helplessly, giving him a good look at the clothes she _was_ wearing. Skin-tight shorts which barely covered her toned ass, let alone her long muscular legs. A red flannel shirt with about two buttons done, exposing both her lean midriff and ample cleavage. Low-cut white cowgirl boots and a hat over her twin black braids. She looked, frankly, like she was auditioning for the porno version of _Dukes of Hazard._ Not that that was a bad thing.

“You wouldn’t want me getting these ones all wet, would you?” she went on, leaning over the counter to give him a good view down the front of her shirt. Oh yeah. She was _definitely_ coming on to him. And who could blame her?

A small voice in the back of her head suggested that she was a prostitute, or part of some elaborate trap by some villain or other. Probably the Monarch, that guy was unstable. But Rusty steadfastly ignored that little voice, because it was much more flattering to believe this woman was genuinely attracted to him.

After all, who wouldn’t be?

She took the hat off, setting it on the counter, and toyed with one of her braids while she pretended to look out the window. It probably wasn’t even an accident she’d wound up in his kitchen. She’d probably come looking for him after that scene on the lawn earlier. She didn’t _seem_ like much of a villain, despite the outfit. “You’re not really a super-villain, are you?”

She sighed wistfully, still toying with her hair. He wondered if it was really as thick and silky as it looked. “Not much of one,” she admitted, and even though she persisted in staring out the window instead of at him he could see her face twitch angrily. “I can’t hack it. At this rate, I’m going to wind up as some cut-rate loser’s lackey instead.”

Great, now she was going to start into a long sob story about how hard it was to be a gorgeous young would-be villain. He was tempted to roll his eyes, but he knew how women worked. That never got you anywhere. Instead, he offered her a winning smile. “You sound like you could use a drink! Can I tempt you? I make a mean red mocho cooler.”

“That’d be wonderful,” she answered, turning her gaze on him again. “As long as it’s alcoholic. Whatever you just said _does_ have alcohol in it, right?”

She was speaking his language now. His smile broadened. “Of course it does! You’re in for a treat. One of my favorite inventions, if I say so myself.” He rose from his chair and poked through the liquor cabinet, searching for the Kahlua. Somebody kept moving the tequila and scotch in front of it for some reason. Ah, there it was! He straightened, setting it on the counter as he went in search of the chocolate syrup.

He glanced back at her as he was retrieving glasses from the cabinet; she’d gone back to staring out the window, elbow on the table, chin cradled in her palm. “If one of _them_ got the job instead of me,” she remarked dryly, “I might have you make that a double.” Outside, a thin young man in all black was getting an atomic wedgie from an unpleasantly burly woman in pink spandex. “Or a triple.” She sighed before turning her attention back to Rusty. “So how did you and the eye get wrapped up in this? I wouldn’t think the OSI would be crazy about inviting a bunch of villains onto the compound of a super scientist.”

His eyebrows went up as he poured Kahlua and syrup into two glasses. For someone who couldn’t hack it in the business, she seemed to know her stuff. “They weren’t, but they don’t get to dictate my life! Anyway, Orpheus doesn’t draw the kind of bad guys that rank as much of a threat…er, no offense.”

Her face twitched. “None taken. But that doesn’t…what _is_ that?”

“Kool-aid powder,” he told her, sprinkling some onto the second drink and adding straws with a flourish. “Trust me!”

For goodness sake, why did she look more scared _now_ than she had watching all those violent idiots? “Why?”

“Why what?” He carried both glasses back to the table and pushed one across to her as he sat down. He was close enough now to notice that she smelled…strange. Not off-putting, but not flowery and feminine, either. Slightly smoky, but not in the same way as Brock. He couldn’t place it, yet it was somehow comforting.

She turned in her seat to look at him, tipping her head to the side a little. “Why should I trust you?” she expanded, as though it were obvious.

“Why, because I…I’m…” he fumbled. “Just try it!”

Her cheeks dimpled as she smiled fully, giving him a peek at the straight white teeth behind her glossy lips. “I’m just dicking with you!” She laughed as she picked up her drink and sipped at the straw. The thick liquid moved slowly up through it, and he watched her mouth purse as she sucked harder. Well-practiced with this concoction, Rusty got a drink without any trouble.

The woman blinked as some of it finally made it to her tongue. “Wow, that is…uh. Wow.”

“I know, right?” Rusty purred, accepting the inarticulate compliment.

She sat back and tried stirring with the straw, managing to drag it around the glass in a slow circle. Then she poked at the red skin forming on top with one manicured fingernail. “Huh.”

“It’s more for decoration than anything,” he admitted, taking another long sip himself.

“Hm.” She had another sip.

“If you want _my_ advice,” he offered, leaning inward with an air of confidentiality, “I’d dump all this villain business if I were you. I’ve been dealing with this kind of thing my whole life, and they’re not…healthy, those people out there. They spend their lives figuring out ways to wreck someone else’s day, and for what? What do they really get out of that?” He shook his head. “I mean, you met Orpheus, right?” She nodded. “Is that really what you want to do with yourself, day after day? Figure out ways to put proverbial flies in his ointment? Because it won’t be all big dramatic magical fights, believe me.”

She chewed on this piece of wisdom, making a face—probably concentration—as she took another sip of her cooler. “He does seem like kind of…” She made another face as she tried to come up with the right word.

“A bore?” Rusty offered, making her snort into her drink.

“I was going to say _uptight_ , but yeah.” She poked with her straw some more. “But there are other heroes out there, obviously.”

He waggled his eyebrows. “You mean like yours truly? Oh come now, you wouldn’t want to arch _me_ , even if you _were_ the right level.”

“You don’t think I could hate you?” she asked, giving him a thoughtful look that made his heart beat a little faster.

“Quite frankly, no,” he told her with a little smile. “You don’t seem like the hating type.”

She barked out a harsh laugh that startled him. “You’d be surprised,” she said with a dark, sultry edge to her voice that stirred…certain feelings. Then she smiled sweetly and rested a hand on the back of his. “But you made me a drink, so you probably don’t need to worry about that.”

Rusty blinked. He couldn’t think of a good answer to that, so he just smiled indulgently. Her hand was warm, dry, and pleasantly smooth against his knuckles. Oh, she _absolutely_ wanted him. She was practically begging for it! A little more small talk, a few charming stories, another drink or two, and he’d be showing her the way to his bedroom. The thought of it was rather intoxicating. He imagined it in vivid detail as she took a few more slow sips through her straw.

But then she sighed and leaned back in her chair. “This is _not_ helping me relax. I’m going to get diabetes before I get remotely drunk.”

“You don’t like it?” He struggled to conceal his disappointment.

She shrugged. “Hard to tell if I like it, when it’s so thick I can barely get it through the straw!”

“I guess I could add some more Kahlua,” he said doubtfully.

She pulled the straw out and stuck it all the way down her throat, closing her lips around the straw provocatively before drawing it slowly back out. All the syrup was gone. “Could you?” she asked with no trace of shame. “That’d be super.”

He got the Kahlua. She used her straw to stir in a whole additional shot, though in his opinion this was completely wrecking the proportions of a good drink. Then she discarded it on the table and lifted the glass to take a swig. He watched her smooth, elegant throat as she swallowed several times. It was half empty when she put it back down.

An amused chuckle popped out of him as she set down the glass. There was a dark chocolate mustache marring her face now, a sticky half-circle clinging to her skin. She felt it and tried to wipe it away, but only smeared it with the back of her hand. Her lip curled in displeasure. “A little help here?” she asked irritably, wiping with another part of her palm. “Ugh, I’m a sticky _mess_! This day just keeps getting better.”

Now he felt a little bad about laughing. With a great deal of effort, he managed to dial it back down to a smirk.

She sighed yet again, rolling her shoulders in a very appealing stretch. “Can we just skip all this meet-cute shit and get to the part where you’re fucking me? Because this—” She gestured to her face and the drink. “Not improving my mood.”

Did she just—did she really—oh, well, of course she did. She’d already wanted him, and clearly she’d seen enough to stop beating about the bush. Couldn’t hold herself back, naturally. Still, her directness, while flattering, had caught him off guard. “Bit full of yourself, aren’t you,” he observed coolly, running his finger around the edge of his glass. “Assuming I’m interested.”

Another flicker of a smile somehow made him feel like she was laughing at him—but when he looked again it had vanished. “Oh, I see. You _don’t_ want to clean the syrup off me with your tongue?”

She thought she had his number, that was it. She knew she was attractive, the little minx, and wasn’t used to being made to wait. “Maybe after I finish my drink,” he answered airily.

“I don’t like being sticky,” she informed him flatly. “At least, not _this_ kind of sticky. I’ll just clean myself up if you’re busy.”

“Go right ahead,” Rusty said, maintaining the airy tone. “There’s a sink over there.” He inclined his head toward it and took another sip of his own drink.

“Oh.” She must have been disappointed, but she did a good job of hiding it as she breezed past him on her way to the sink. “My mistake.” She turned washing her hands and wiping off her mouth with a damp paper towel into a lengthy affair. Obviously, she didn’t want to admit how much she wanted him. He almost felt sorry for her. “Guess I’ll see myself out, then.” She wiped her hands one last time and sashayed in the direction of the door.

Rusty stood up. “I wouldn’t want you to get lost again,” he said generously. “I can show you the way.”

“Don’t feel obligated,” she answered, looking back over her shoulder. “I don’t need any favors.” She started out the door again.

“There’s no need to get all bent out of shape,” he called after her, though if pressed he would have to admit that her shape was exquisite, and she sounded perfectly calm. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

She paused again, leaning against the kitchen door. “No, no,” she sighed, shaking her head so that her pigtails danced back and forth over her breasts. “I know when I’ve been rejected. I’m a grown-up, I can take it.”

Was she actually going to just _leave_? He felt a moment of panic. “Well now hold on just a minute,” he objected, following her partway. “There’s no _rush_.”

Again, she smiled at him. There was something mischievous about that smile, even though she sounded perfectly subdued as she said “It’s fine, really. I can get someone else, I just thought you were interested. Guess I misread the room.” She shrugged.

Why did he feel like he was playing some bizarre game of chicken? “I can’t in good conscience let you go out into that mess,” he offered gallantly, gesturing toward the carnage outside the window.

“Sweet of you to worry, but I can hold my own.” She winked at him. “Villain, remember? Anyway, thanks for the drink. It was nice to meet you.”

“Yes,” he responded, definitely feeling like he’d somehow been outmaneuvered here. “Are you sure I can’t at least…give you a tour while you’re here?”

Both of her eyebrows went up. “Give the villain a tour? Really?”

“Well as we said, you’re not at any risk of arching _me_.” He tried to save face. “You’re hardly a villain at all, really!”

Her eyes narrowed. “ _Thanks_.” She turned on her heel once more.

“Ugh, that’s not what I meant!” he exclaimed, following her into the next room. She couldn’t actually be _leaving_ , not after the way she’d been looking at him! “Hold on just a minute. I’ll—I’ll make you another drink!”

The woman stopped walking, standing frozen with her back to him in the old sitting room. He thought he’d gotten through to her, but after a second of watching her shoulders tremble he realized she was _laughing_. “What’s so funny?” he demanded snidely, mood changing abruptly. If she was going to laugh at him, he didn’t need her anyway, she was probably unstable, who knew with these GCI sluts these days—

She collapsed onto a plastic-draped sofa, hugging her stomach as she got her laughter back under control. “It’s just—” she gasped through her giggles. “Just— _you!_ Are you seriously so broken and arrogant that you can’t say wait, yes, I _do_ want to see you naked?”

Er, what? “Nnnnooooo?” he answered uncertainly.

She thankfully succeeded in tamping down her case of the giggles. “You can’t tell a pretty girl in your kitchen with you, alone, that you want to feel her legs wrapped around you?” she pressed, batting her eyes.

Rusty cleared his throat. “It’s just that usually when I do that within ten minutes of meeting her,” he attempted to explain, “it doesn’t end well.”

“What,” she gasped in surprise that may or may not have been sarcastic. “Even after you make her a truly terrible drunk?” Her eyes sparkled as she smirked at him.

“I thought you said you liked it!”

“No, I let you _think_ I liked it. There’s a difference.”

“So you didn’t like it?” He was offended, both that she hadn’t and that she’d pretended otherwise.

She rolled her eyes and ignored the question. “For example,” she went on instead, “I clearly articulated my interest in having you get me out of this ridiculous costume. So is that something you want, or not?”

Desperate, that’s what she was. It must have made her hysterical, yes, that was it. “Well,” he said, puffing up slightly, “when you put it like that…yes.”

She grinned and got back to her feet in one graceful movement. “That’s what I thought.” She walked up to him, hips moving to and fro provocatively, and ran a finger down the center of his chest. “So. Where _is_ your bedroom?” Before he could answer, she leaned in close, brushing her lips over his in a light, tantalizing kiss.

He grabbed her. He pulled her in hard, feeling her body mold to his, running his hands over her back as his tongue penetrated those wonderfully soft lips. It was every bit as intoxicating as he’d imagined it would be. She tasted of chocolate and Kahlua (naturally), and the way she kissed him was intense without crossing the line into rough. Her hands moved from his shoulders, where they pulled him deeper into the embrace, to his ass, where she pulled him close enough that he could feel the heat coming off her nethers. Oh yes, she wanted a taste of Rusty Venture. Well, he could give her more than a taste.

“Bedroom,” she reiterated, stroking her hand over the erection pushing against the crotch of his speed suit. No trouble in _that_ area today, anyway! He kneaded the perfect curve of her ass, half tempted to start peeling her clothing off right here. But no, there was no telling when the boys might decide to stroll through.

“This way,” he told her, reluctantly removing his hands.

“ _Thank_ you,” she said with satisfaction, following him readily down the hall. When it took more than a few seconds to get there, she decided to resume the conversation. “You’re surprisingly good at that, you know,” she informed him, grabbing his ass from behind as they walked. “From the way you were acting, I was starting to wonder if you’d ever been laid.”

“Ex _cuse_ me,” he countered indignantly, “I have been laid _plenty_ of times! I have _children_. You don’t get kids without sex.”

“Sure you do. Adoption. Invitro. All kinds of options these days.” She grabbed his hand, pulling him to a stop and placing it on her breast in one smooth move. “But don’t worry. I believe you.”

They made out again for a while. She had a hickey forming on her throat and his speed suit was more than halfway unbuttoned before they made it the rest of the way to the bedroom. He shut the door firmly and locked it. And the second he turned around, she was on top of him. Not like a tiger, though. He didn’t feel like prey. She was like…a siren, slowly pulling him into the water. Only he wasn’t going to drown, no. She was going to make him king of the sirens. He was going to conquer all of them, everything. She _wanted_ him to conquer her.

The little flannel top went onto his bedroom carpet. So did the tiny shorts. Kneeling in only a thong and pair of boots, she teased the last of the buttons free from his suit and ran her hand up and down again—this time against the front of his underpants. Good lord, he was going to lose control right now if she kept that up. He needed to get inside her right away. Holding back was positively painful.

“You ever fuck a villain before, Dr. Venture?” she purred, sliding her fingers under the elastic and coaxing them slowly down.

“Can’t say that I have,” he managed to answer with a voice that was only slightly strained. “Though to be fair, most of them aren’t as attractive as you.”

For some reason that made her laugh again, pressing her forehead into his bare thigh and giggling quietly to herself. “ _Now_ you start trying to flatter me?”

The fact that she stood back up at that point and pressed her naked chest against him made it somewhat difficult to come up with an answer. “It’s not flattery if it’s true.”

“Ooh, good answer.” She kissed him again, running her hands over his head as she ground herself against him. He shoved her gently in the direction of the bed, and she immediately stretched herself out on the duvet, extending her arms above her head.

He’d stepped out of his underpants as he followed her, yet that lacy black thong hadn’t moved. She put her hand down the front of it, and he was still trying to figure out how he felt about her doing what ought to be _his_ job when her hand reemerged with a flat plastic square in her fingers. She passed it to him, sliding her hand back down as she watched him tear open the plastic and put it on. The eagerness with which she watched was both arousing and unnerving.

“You always carry condoms?” he asked, mostly to hide his nerves.

“It pays to be prepared, Dr. Venture.” She winked and pushed the black lace down her thighs.

Dr. Venture. Usually he liked the title, but here it felt silly and formal. And he still didn’t have the faintest idea what to call _her_. “You know, you can just call me Rusty…”

A coy smile. “If you say so.”

“And what should I call _you_?”

“Anything you like,” she said, kicking the thong off the end of her boot.

This is unreal, he thought briefly as he climbed onto her. Her skin was smooth and warm, her muscles were taut and eager, her breasts were perfect, and she pulled him to her with an enthusiasm that reminded him of Myra. Probably crazy, that was it. The women he drew always seemed to be crazy.

Oh well.

She exhaled happily as he pushed in, but Rusty missed the blissful smile that played over her lips because his attention was caught up in his own pleasures. She didn’t just carry condoms around in her panties, she carried _good_ condoms, the sort where you could almost imagine it wasn’t there. She was deliciously tight, and the way he slid into her felt more like silk than any kind of lubricant. And the way she _moved!_ Why, it could drive a man to madness.

“Yes,” she murmured near his ear, wrapping both her arms and legs around his back. “Yes, like that, like _that_!”

He tried to keep going, he did, but the sensations were overwhelmingly exquisite, she was pulling it out of him, he couldn’t be held responsible.

A moment passed. He rolled off, enjoying the pleasant mixture of relief and ecstasy, catching his breath. The woman beside him stretched herself out slowly with a little sigh, and a feeling of unease washed over him. He felt wonderfully satisfied and pleased with himself over having a creature like this in his bed, but he was vaguely aware that she might not share those feelings. Women, in his mind, tended to want all sorts of crazy things, _hours_ of work, before they felt they’d achieved proper orgasm.

“Er,” he said, working up the nerve to look her in the face. Better to start with a compliment. They liked that. “ _You_ are amazing. I normally last a lot longer, but you know, you…”

She laughed breathily and turned onto her side, facing him. “You know, you’re actually kind of sweet.” She trailed a finger down the center of his chest and studied him seriously, making a cute little crease appear between her brows. “You really want to know, don’t you?”

How was he supposed to answer that? “Yes?” he said cautiously, daring to rest a hand on the dip of her waist.

It must have been the right answer. She leaned closer and kissed him, much slower than the way she’d kissed before. The lack of urgency made it seem almost tender. “I came the second you went in. Everything you did after that just extended it.” One bare shoulder raised and then fell, and she gave him a smile that was endearingly crooked. “Too much build-up.”

He nodded in agreement, rather wishing she’d kiss him like that again. “Exactly!” Her skin really did feel amazing. He ran his palm slowly up and down the curve of her side. “Well. Another satisfied customer.”

“Customer?” she repeated, raising her eyebrows.

He narrowed his eyes for a split second, daring her to make an issue to it. “You know what I mean!”

“Mmm,” she said, stroking the backs of her fingers idly down his chest again. Then, just as he was starting to really enjoy the moment, she abruptly sat up, arching her back and stretching. “Well, thanks. That was just what I needed. I feel loads better!”

“Any time,” he answered with a sly wink. Since she was on the move, he scooted up the bed and grabbed a tissue from the bedside table. “Happy to be of service.”

The woman snorted in amusement and pulled her thong back up her thighs and into position. She’d never even taken her boots off. There was something decidedly erotic about that. She’d wanted him so badly she hadn’t even paused to take off her boots. He tossed the tissue and its contents at the trash can, smirking to himself even when it missed.

Her tiny shorts were back on now, too. He took a minute to admire her as she found her shirt and turned the sleeves right-side out. Sadly, he didn’t have beautiful half-naked women walking around his room that often, and he wanted to commit this to memory.

She noticed him looking and paused, striking a pose before pulling the shirt closed over her breasts. Rusty smiled dreamily. She answered it with that slightly crooked grin. “You want to touch them again, don’t you.”

He nodded.

She sighed as she leaned back over the bed, as if it were a huge personal sacrifice, though he could tell from her eyes that she was pleased. He was pleased, too. Her breasts _looked_ phenomenal, but they _felt_ even better. He could get used to this!

Unfortunately she pulled back after only a few seconds, straightening up and tying the shirt in a knot between them. “I need to grab my hat from your kitchen. What’s the quickest way out from there?”

It finally dawned on him that she was _leaving_. Somehow he’d thought she’d want to stick around, have a sandwich, maybe stay the night and go again. Which was ridiculous, of course. He could already see Brock rolling his eyes and hear Dean’s anxious questions. No, they’d already gotten away with more than he had any right to expect in this house. Maybe another day. After a real date.

“Rusty?” she asked, eyebrows high on her forehead. “Hello? Exit?”

“Back down the hall to the left after you leave the kitchen,” he answered hurriedly. “I’ll show you.”

“Nah, I’ve got it,” she said, patting her hair to see if it had escaped the pigtails. “You’re not even dressed yet. Anyway, thanks. I had fun.”

“Wait!” he protested as she headed for the bedroom door. She stopped and turned, giving him time to slide off the bed and locate his underwear as he spoke. “I don’t have your number yet! Or your name!”

“Aww, sorry.” She actually looked faintly sorry, but she was still unlocking the door. “There’s no point. I’m not from around here.”

“I can travel,” he pointed out, trying to shove a foot into his briefs. “Have you seen the X-1?”

“Oh?” she said, but she didn’t seem to be hearing him. “It sounds great. But I need to get going. Back to the kitchen and then go left, you said?”

“I—but—” It was no good, she was already out the door. He sank back down onto the bed and finished pulling his underwear into place. Well that was…the whole thing felt insane, really. He certainly wasn’t going to chase after her again! Though part of him would have liked to. There was something about her that was so intoxicating…she’d certainly enjoyed herself. And _he’d_ enjoyed _her_ , a great deal. But if she didn’t want to stick around, he should probably count his blessings. The last thing he needed was some unstable sex-crazed siren hanging around and throwing a wrench in his life!

This, really, was the ideal outcome. She’d been unable to keep herself off of him, and it really _had_ been fun, yes. He’d needed that little encounter, too. But much better to keep it simple. No names, no complications. Well, she’d had his name, alright, yes, but _everyone_ knew who _he_ was. No, he was _glad_ she’d pulled a Cinderella rather than try to get anything more out of him.

He preened a little bit, thinking about the gorgeous woman who’d been unable to keep her hands off him, who had left completely satisfied. Today was a good day.

All that excitement had left him hungry. He was going to head back into the kitchen, he decided. He’d see what the situation was on the front lawn, maybe make himself a sandwich.

* * *

So that was Dr. Venture, the woman thought as she walked along the perimeter of the compound, avoiding the messy fighting on her way to her car. It was a long walk back to where she’d parked, but that was alright. She was feeling relaxed and good about herself, so she had no objection to some exercise before returning to the hotel. The authorities were on the scene now, spraying foam firing rubber bullets as they attempted to break up the fight. She didn’t see the Walking Eye anymore—presumably it had succumbed to all the attacks. No great loss there, honestly.

As she strolled, her mind drifted back to the message that had turned up in her inbox several months back. She’d deleted it, but it had made her so angry that she’d inadvertently committed the words to memory. 

_Jane. I’m aware that you are an adult and feel the need to “strike out on your own,” as it were. I’ve been content to let you have your freedom up till now, but that time is over. My sources informed me that you are attempting to register yourself with the CGI as a villain. This is entirely unacceptable. Are you trying to besmirch the family name? We are scientists, Jane, not villains. Come home immediately._

Yes, besmirch the family name, that was _exactly_ what she’d been trying to do! For a genius, he could be pretty slow on the uptake. She doubted whether her latest antics were his real reason for writing, anyway. She’d seen the birth announcement a few months back. They were probably trying to get her home so they’d have a live-in babysitter for the little brat. Well, fat chance of that!

Her thoughts took her, naturally, from that message to the one she’d gotten a few weeks later—after she’d declined to respond to the first.

_Jane. I feel I’ve been very indulgent with your behavior. But enough is enough. I need you home. Sally’s left me. For a Venture! After all I’ve done for that family over the years. They have no honor, Jane. I’d never have thought it of Jonas’ sons, but there you have it. I’d sooner see you follow through with this Guild nonsense than have you end up a pill-popping failure or an obnoxious little homewrecker like those two. Degenerates! You are so much better than that. Please, Jane. You know I don’t beg, but you must know how serious I am. You must come home._

She was kind of glad she’d read that one, in retrospect. She hadn’t actually expected to meet Dr. Venture when she came here, but knowing she’d just banged someone her dad so heartily disapproved of made the whole thing that much better. Now, was Rusty the pill-popping failure, or the obnoxious little homewrecker? One corner of her mouth twisted up in a smile, laughing at herself for even having to ask. That man, seduce Sally? Not likely. Not in a million years.

He’d been kind of sweet, though. Awkward, arrogant, and insecure—but still, kind of sweet. And he hadn’t been a failure at the only thing she cared about. The act had reassured her, too, in a way. Maybe she was sucking at this whole villain thing so far, but she could still start with a man telling her to get out of his kitchen and walk away an hour later with him begging for her phone number. Hard to feel too bad about yourself after something like that.

Really, though, he had a lot of potential. She wouldn’t have guessed it, watching him wash that giant robot earlier, but he had a few good moves up his sleeve. She shivered pleasantly at the memory of the way his hand had gripped her ass. Almost too bad, that she’d never see him again. Another round might have been fun, and he’d seemed like he needed it.

But no, this was better. She wasn’t going to let the poor guy fly halfway across the country next time she needed a booty call—and anyway, that would involve so much waiting, it’d hardly be worth it. There were plenty of men in New York, and most of weren’t skinny and bald. This, really, was the ideal outcome. It couldn’t have worked out better if she’d planned it.

She found the exit in the chain-link fence, and kept her chin held high as she passed through it. Today was a good day.


	2. Chapter 2

_Three years later._

Disappointing her father was really hard work. She’d spent her teens and most of her twenties putting most of her energy into it, even though therapy probably would have been a better choice, because it so happened that a lot of the things that pissed off her dad were also _fun_. Public intoxication, casual sex, video games, toying with dangerous chemicals, hanging out with villains. She’d enjoyed that. For the most part, the fact that it drove her dad nuts was just a fringe benefit.

But then she hit twenty-seven, and the whole villain thing wasn’t going so well, and her dad decided to fucking _switch sides_ and become one himself. So Jane did the natural thing: dropped out of the game altogether. She even stopped taking his money and got a couple of paying jobs. Boring, low-brow jobs to pay for her tiny, unimpressive studio apartment. She told herself that she was doing it because she wanted to make her _own_ way in the world, but a shrink would probably have told her that this was just a new, more adult form of rebellion. Because her father would _hate_ the idea of his daughter living in a hovel and serving normal people to pay rent.

So here she was, on her own in New York, cutting off her nose to spite her face. Because if she didn’t want anything to do with her father’s world, she didn’t have any useful advantages. And the trouble with working normal, boring jobs was that they were, well, boring. She had a brain! Serving cocktails was easy money and good for pissing off Daddy, but the part of her that was used to plotting, kicking ass, and constructing explosives was bored to tears. She needed something that required more of her than carrying Manhattans and wiggling her ass for tourists.

Unfortunately, she’d never bothered finishing college, and without a degree or falling back on family connections, no one was going to give her an interesting job working with dangerous chemicals.

Well, not until Rusty Venture came to town, anyway.

* * *

“Hey, Doc.” Hatred’s face popped up on the screen in his watch.

“Yes?” Rusty answered testily. He’d been very busy jotting ideas down on a notepad and then scratching out all the impractical ones. Right now he had a big list of black lines. Some days being a scientist was a real pain in the ass.

“Some lady requested an appointment with you. Said it’s something to do with some lab work?”

Probably one of JJ’s scientists. God knew he’d had enough of them on staff! Mostly menial tasks, not really even inventing. Not much better than those college kids he’d hired to work on the blast shields, really. Probably a lot of overpaid pencil-pushers. Undoubtedly, they needed access to some materials or data. Well too bad! That was all VenTech property.

Then again, what if it was the opposite? What if this woman still _had_ equipment or data that rightfully belonged to the company? What if, by refusing to meet her, he was passing up some critical concept or piece of information that could make millions?

He sighed and waved a hand lethargically in the direction of the watch screen. “Put her down for Thursday. Some time after lunch, I don’t care.”

“Uhhh…can’t. Nope, you’ve got that shareholder thing on Thursday.”

“Ugh, _another_ one?” He liked to forget that VenTech was publicly traded. Things had been so much _simpler_ when he just had to worry about the compound. Now he had to answer to the reputation of the company instead of just scrounging up the cash to pay a bill. You’d think the public would have a little gratitude for all the things he’d already done for them—not just the inventions they were blissfully unaware of, but the childhood he’d sacrificed for their entertainment. Going from boy adventurer to super scientist was no easy feat! Jonas had it easy, springing to life right in his prime and skipping over all those messy years.

He did wonder, sometimes, how Jonas would have turned out if they’d both been born at the same time. If they’d both gotten dragged around the globe and subjected to the whims of their father. Maybe Jonas wouldn’t have turned out such a suave little bastard, maybe he wouldn’t have turned out billions of dollars of insipid garbage that topped the consumer lists. Maybe he would have wound up with more stress than hair, too.

But Jonas was dead, and he’d stuck his big brother with sorting out his business, as usual. Not like Rusty had any experience turning out the kinds of things these damned shareholders seemed to expect! But did Jonas think about that when he was writing his will? About the responsibility? No, of course he didn’t.

“Friday, then,” he said reluctantly. “I don’t have anything _Friday,_ do I?”

Hatred pressed some keys with his giant fingers, looking over the schedule. Sometimes it was very tempting to hire a real secretary, instead of leaving that sad oaf in charge of his affairs. But he didn’t want to pay someone for an hour of work a day, when Hatred was already handling it along with manning the front desk. Practical, that’s what it was. The old villain’s devotion to Dean and Hank had very little to do with it.

“Friday’s A-OK,” Hatred told him happily. “The only thing you’ve got on here is the optometrist.”

He’d been trying to forget about that, too. Something about the way the eye doctor said “One, or two?” over and over again got on his nerves. “What time is that at?”

“Nine.”

“That seems awfully early,” Rusty said irritably, but he supposed it was too late to reschedule. “Put the lab thing after that, then. Say, eleven?”

“You got it,” Hatred said, picking up the phone. “I’ll let her know.”

“Wasn’t Dean coming by tomorrow?” he asked suddenly.

“I dunno, Doc.” Good grief, even on the tiny screen he could see Hatred shift uneasily. “He told me his schedule was uh, pretty full this semester.”

Perfect, another night of hanging out with White and Billy. Assuming they were even available. With his luck, it was going to be Helper keeping him company while he binge-watched Netflix in the hot tub. He’d always imagined that life in New York City would be a lot more exciting than this, especially with money and the boys grown up. He shouldn’t be looking forward to playing a game of cards with _Brock,_ for goodness sake! At this point he’d even welcome an attack from Malcom. At least that’d make him feel important, liven things up a little bit.

He scowled down at the crossed-out list in front of him. There must be _something_ new he could create that people would pay for! Maybe this girl with Jonas’ data would point him in the right direction.

* * *

Of course. He’d been picturing some sour Marie Curie type, but of _course_ any woman who’d worked with Jonas would be a total knockout. Her blue and gold pant suit was professional but not overly conservative, doing a poor job of concealing her long legs and slim waist. She was young, too—a little over thirty, maybe, with long black hair and thick, dark lashes. Her nose was a little sharp, alright, but she could still have walked off the pages of a clothing magazine.

“Hi, Dr. Venture,” she greeted him with a polite smile, offering her hand to him. He stood up to greet her, clasping her hand in a brief shake. It was warm, and her grip was confident. “Thank you for agreeing to see me.”

“Oh yes, of course!” He flapped his hand as he sat back down, trying to give the impression that the idea of _not_ seeing her had never even crossed his mind. “It was something regarding laboratory work, right?” She was still standing over him. It was a bit unnerving. “Why don’t you sit down.”

She did, primly, with perfect posture, hands perfectly still in her lap like some British nanny. “Yes, that’s right.”

Not too eager to spill the beans, eh? This was definitely something top-level. A new project no one but Jonas had known about, perhaps. Not just some new bells and whistles for an updated jPhone, but a real doozie. He’d have to handle her carefully, not scare her off. He certainly wouldn’t mind handling her, carefully or in any other way…that suit jacket was pulling apart at the labels under the strain of concealing what were undoubtedly amazing breasts.

He cleared his throat. “Did you work here under JJ?”

She crossed her ankles and lifted her chin, readying herself for whatever she had to say. He waited in anticipation. “No, I’m afraid I didn’t have the opportunity.” Wait, what? “But I was hoping that my background in chemistry might be useful to _you_.”

He stared at her blankly for a moment as he grappled with what she was saying. It wasn’t so much that he didn’t understand as that he didn’t _want_ to. “You’re looking for a _job_?” he asked in dismay. Damn it, Hatred, learn to communicate! “I thought you might have some useful information or something.”

He probably shouldn’t have said that, but having her be just some nobody trying to get a job was such a disappointment. And who cared if he offended her, if she wasn’t going to be the key to some new multimillion-dollar project?

She was still smiling at him, though. “Just because I’ve never worked at VenTech before doesn’t mean I couldn’t help you on your current projects.”

 _What_ current projects? The whole thing was laughable. Oh well, she was here now, he might as well hear her out. “I suppose,” he agreed without enthusiasm. “What is it you can do, Miss, er…” Damn it all, nobody had even thought to tell him her name! Hatred or Brock should have prepared him better for this.

Unphased, the woman pulled a slim briefcase into her lap, crisply snapping it open and pulling out a sheet of paper. “Jane,” she said as she passed it to him. “My experience is mainly in chemistry and explosives.”

It was cheap, unembellished, plain white. One page. Not much of resumé. Did she think he was going to hire her just because she could dress up like a professional? He scanned down the page. Not even a college degree, and she—

Oh. Well. _That_ was interesting. “You used to be with the _Guild_?” he asked, yanking his eyes back from the paper to look at her suspiciously.

The smile she gave him was tight and nervous. His eyes scanned over her body again, this time looking for some sign of a weapon. Of course that was silly—if she’d been sent here by the Guild, she’d hardly be listing it on her resumé, would she? Unless it was a double-bluff. Where was Brock? He glanced nervously at his watch.

“As you can see,” this Jane said to him, gesturing to her resumé, “I made the mistake of not taking my studies seriously enough. No traditional firms considered me qualified. Working with the GCI seemed like a good way to put some of my skills to use.”

His eyes flicked over her again. The Guild as a whole didn’t really have a problem with him. He’d played referee their annual bitchslapathon with the OSI again last winter, and the Council members he’d dealt with were perfectly pleasant on their own. Hell, even Hatred had been Guild once! Ever since Malcom had gotten the arching rights back, he was the only real nuisance around here. And granted, he was excellent at making himself a nuisance these days. But the point was, what reason would the Guild have to send some undercover femme fatale to bother him? It was possible she was telling the truth.

“And how do I know you’re not working for them now?” he asked, testing the waters.

“Because I’m not?” She shrugged, and something about that gesture reminded him more of Hank than of a corporate scientist or Guild operative. Maybe she was younger than thirty. “You’re welcome to call them up and inquire. They’ll tell you I let my membership lapse over a year ago, and any background check will show I haven’t done any unsanctioned arching.”

Rusty had no interest in spending hours stuck in telephone hell as the Guild’s “customer service” misheard his requests and bounced him back and forth between departments. This woman trying to kill him would be preferable to that. “Ugh, no,” he told her with distaste. “I’ve _had_ it with their customer service.” And, strangely, he didn’t think she _was_ going to try to kill him. He couldn’t put his finger on why, exactly, but he believed that she was telling the truth. Pressing his fingers together thoughtfully, he looked back over the scant resumé.

Jane Inbras, it read in bold block letters at the top. Chemist. A chemist _could_ be useful, he supposed. Billy was more of a biologist, and White wasn’t good for anything besides music and IT. She was easy on the eyes, and if she’d worked for the Guild she might have some skills as a bodyguard as well as a scientist. Hm…

He tapped his fingers against each other, one at a time, thinking. It was one woman, how much could her salary possibly run? If she had real ideas he could capitalize on, it’d be worth the price. She didn’t have a degree, either. That’d mean he could pay her less. As a businessman, hiring her would make good sense. As a man, he’d enjoy having her around. As a Venture…well, Brock would probably figure it out if she turned out to be a threat. The only two real concerns, to his mind, were whether hiring her would open a floodgate of scientists trying to work here, and whether she was somebody he could stand to work with. The frozen smile and uptight posture said she’d be a stickler for the rules and a horrible nag to have around. The defensive shrug and lack of a degree said otherwise.

“Jane Inbras,” he said aloud, adjusting his glasses. “That’s an interesting last name.” He couldn’t figure out what its origin might be. Looking at her was no help, she had that perfect bronze skin tone that could be almost anything except northern European. Listening to her didn’t help, either, because her New York accent was faint enough to be confusing. Inbras, though. He tried repeating it, to see if that got any sort of response. “In-bras. It reminds me of something.” Everything about her reminded him of something. It was skirting around the back of his mind, just out of reach. Who did she remind him of?

She froze when he said it, though. Like a deer in the headlights, her smile turning rictus on her face. So, she _was_ hiding something. Hm. Something deadly? He thought not. Maybe if he put her more at ease…

“In-bras,” he said again, turning on the old charm. “Would it be terribly unprofessional of me to say I’d like to see you with _out_ bras?” He was rich and important now, the worst that could happen would be her stalking out indignantly. And the best that could happen would be that she’d say—

“You already _have,_ Rusty,” she said, rolling her eyes.

His jaw nearly dropped. The sudden change in her demeanor was as much of a shock as the words themselves. She sighed and slouched back into the deep sofa cushions, no longer keeping her knees primly together. The briefcase slid off her lap onto the cushion next to her. “What?” he asked, brow furrowing. “When?” Seeing this vision topless wasn’t the sort of thing he would have forgotten!

“Colorado,” she told him, but that didn’t exactly narrow it down. He’d spent most of his life in Colorado, after all. “A few summers back. Order of the Triad was holding arching interviews. I bumped into you in the kitchen after mine…?”

She left the sentence hanging, clearly hoping his memory would fill in the blanks. He stared at her, trying to match this suave businesswoman with the image that memory conjured. She sighed heavily, taking his silence for a failure to recall it at all, but that was far from the case. “Miss Chance? I had on a sexy cowgirl sort of get-up?”

He would have considered their meeting _good_ luck, not mischance. And he only vaguely remembered the outfit. But _her—_ of course he remembered _her_! “Oh,” he said, which admittedly was not the most intelligent response. It was just, well, what would she be doing _here_? Now?

She’d already told him, though, hadn’t she! And now that he knew who she was, the pieces were falling into place. He felt himself start to smile. “ _Oh,_ ” he said again, waggling his eyebrows at her. She hadn’t been from Colorado, that was why she’d never hit him up for a second date. Clearly, she was from New York, and now she’d caught on to the fact that _he_ was here, too. “Why didn’t you just _say_ so?” If she’d turned up dressed like last time and dropped the pretenses, she’d have gotten her meeting that same day. He wouldn’t have even bothered looking over her resumé.

So. His mysterious siren from three years ago had a name after all. Jane. He looked her over again appreciatively.

“Because I was hoping you’d give me a job based on my actual merits,” she said, leaning forward and resting her hand on his knee in a way that spoke not just of things they’d done, but things they could do again. Her suit wasn’t quite as conservative as he’d originally thought, either; at this distance, he could see past the collar all the way to the edge of her lacy white bra.

She was saying something. He tried hard to concentrate. “—work on bombs or chemical weapons,” she finished, pouting slightly. She batted her lashes at him, looking for sympathy. “No one gives me a chance to do _science_! I thought maybe… _you’d_ understand.”

He understood perfectly, and rewarded her with a smile as he told her so. “Of course I understand. Since I took over VenTech, everyone’s wanted a piece.” And who could blame her? “Guess you saw me in the papers and couldn’t resist coming back for more, hm?” He stretched his arms out along the back of the sofa, giving her a good look. He was glad he’d worn the black suit today instead of his regular speedsuit. “You didn’t need the whole interview pretense, you could have—”

“But I _do_ want a job,” she interrupted, looking adorably distressed. “Honestly! You don’t even need to pay me that much.” Good, he hadn’t planned to. “I just want license to work on real stuff, in a real lab! You’re a scientist, too—I thought maybe we could work together?”

She sounded so hopeful, so earnest. Alright, he was willing to believe that she really wanted a laboratory job. Working directly beside him was probably a bit out of her league, but he supposed he could use someone to help down there. An excuse to give her a small salary and some extra time near him, at any rate. That was what she was really after, judging from the way her hand had inched up from his knee. “Just work?” he asked, lifting an eyebrow.

She still looked anxious, poor thing. “Well, I don’t want people to think I got the job by fucking the boss! I mean, I’m sure you could get any woman you wanted in your bed.” She was deliberately flattering him, he realized that. He just found it very difficult to _care_ that it was flattery. In fact, he rather enjoyed it. “But only _I_ can help you develop high-end explosives and super drugs.”

Super drugs? Rusty forgot to breathe for a second. “Can you really?” Maybe she was what he’d been hoping for after all, and more.

She leaned over, giving him another clear view down her blouse as she retrieved her little briefcase and snapped it open. She presented him with another stack of papers. “Take a look for yourself. These are just the concepts I’ve been working on.” He’d barely glanced at the top page when she dropped a manila folder onto the top. “And these are the patented devices I’ve developed in the past.”

Jane took her hand off his thigh while he looked through the papers, but in truth he barely noticed. The data and sketches on these pages weren’t just interesting, they were engrossing. It might have been a while since he’d pulled off any revolutionary inventions, but he knew good science when he saw it. She had designs for a variety of ingenious explosives, most of which could be used as non-lethal deterrents. That was profitable. (Aerosolized bladder triggers? Was that even possible? Apparently it was, she’d gotten a real patent on it.) And the chemical formulas she’d jotted down had some real potential as pharmaceuticals, if they did what she said.

He’d seen enough. He passed the stack of papers back to her, making an effort to appear blasé. “Sure, fine, you’ve got the job. Show up tomorrow morning. I’ll tell Billy and White to show you around the lab.”

The excitement that slowly dawned on her face made her finally look like the girl from his memory. He liked being responsible for that sort of happiness. “Seriously?” she practically squealed. “Just like that?”

He crossed an ankle over his knee, smiling indulgently. “If you can’t help out old friends, what good is it being rich and famous?”

What happened next came as a surprise. He’d expected her gratitude, yes, but not the impulsive embrace. She flung herself into his lap, knocking his foot back onto the floor and pressing her chest into him as her arms snaked between his back and the sofa cushions. “Thank you so much,” she said in a way that wasn’t remotely breathy or seductive. “That’s incredible!”

Unfortunately, she pulled back just as his arms started to circle her. She remained close, though, her leg brushing his as she rested a shoulder in the sofa and smiled at him. Close enough to kiss, if he’d wanted to. Oh, who was he kidding, of _course_ he wanted to! She wasn’t going to get away from him this time, either. He had her phone number right there on the resumé.

“It is, isn’t it,” he smiled, smoothly dropping his arm from the sofa onto her shoulder. “Why don’t we have dinner tonight to celebrate?”

That didn’t get the reaction he’d hoped for, though. Her face fell and she shrugged away from his hand. “I can’t, I have to work.”

Work? “What are you talking about?” he demanded. Adding to his confusion at the excuse was that she really looked heartbroken over turning him down. “I just said you start tomorrow morning.”

She shook her head regretfully. “My _current_ job. I had to pay the bills somehow.”

Oh, was _that_ all? He put his arm back around her shoulder confidently. “Well, so quit! You’re with Venture now.” VenTech. He probably should have said VenTech. Then again, _she’d_ come to _him_. Why hide what they both wanted?

“Rusty…” Ugh, he knew that tone of voice. It made the words that followed a pleasant surprise. “I want you.” Of course she did! And he’d just given her the job she wanted. So what was the hang-up? “I can’t just…” Jane shrugged, looking unhappy, but rather than pull away she leaned in closer and rested her fingers lightly on his chest. “If I sleep with you now, I’m always going to feel like that’s the only reason you gave me a job. Maybe, you know, down the line?” She looked up at him hopefully. “Once I show you what I can do in the lab?”

“Oh, so you want to do it in the lab?” he asked slyly, throwing in a little wink. He knew that wasn’t what she’d meant…or at least he was fairly sure…but either way, he had no objections to it.

“That’s not what I said,” she scolded him, but there was a refreshing flash of mischief in her eyes. He was on the right track here and he knew it.

“Really?” he flirted, dispensing with pretense and dropping his hand from her shoulder to her waist. “All I heard was, Rusty, I want you.”

Just as he’d hoped, she shifted herself closer, inviting his hand to slide all the way down the curve of her toned ass. “I’ll tell you what,” she said, and the promise in her voice made him tingle with excitement, “since we can’t celebrate tonight, maybe we do it right now instead.”

“Let me check my schedule,” he said, though they both knew he had absolutely no intention of doing so. If he’d _had_ another meeting today, he would have cancelled it.

“I’m sure you can fit in it,” she whispered, tipping her face up invitingly and closing her eyes.

Of course he went for it, not holding back anything as he kissed her. Her lips parted almost immediately, inviting his tongue in, giving him a taste of the mint she must have eaten before this. He moved his hand from her butt to her thigh, gentle pressure encouraging her to slide those long legs over his. She twisted easily, wrapping her arms around the back of his neck as she moved into his lap, not taking her mouth of his for any longer than she had to. _She_ wasn’t holding anything back, either.

Rusty would never willingly have admitted how long it had been since a woman had made him feel _wanted_ like this. The boost to his ego was almost as enticing as the way she guided his hand up to her breast.

She didn’t seem to need to stop for air, but he did. When he was forced to pull back to catch his breath, she just pressed her lips into his neck instead. Insatiable, this woman. Her pants were getting uncomfortably tight.

“One condition,” she said softly, pausing to rub her lips over his earlobe. Was that a flicker of tongue?

He’d started fumbling with the buttons of her jacket before they even stopped kissing, but now he could actually see what he was doing. Four large buttons. His deft fingers made quick work of them, allowing him to push it down her shoulders and out of the way. The blouse underneath was made of very thin material. A condition? Anything, anything she wanted. “What’s that?”

“That the job’s not contingent on me sleeping with you,” she said, punctuating the statement by tugging gently at his ear with her teeth. “And unless you plan on paying me a six-figure salary—” One of her hands left his shoulder, sneaking under her thigh to rub against the front of his slacks. “—I keep my old job, too.”

He felt the need to catch his breath again. This one was almost too hot to handle. Nobody but Brock was in the penthouse, maybe he could undress her right here on the sofa. Wait, no, the windows. “So,” he said, attempting to summarize her condition, “provided you don’t _have_ to sleep with me, you want to sleep with me?” It seemed like a silly distinction to him.

She nodded before returning her mouth to his ear. “It’s hotter when it’s by choice.”

Did she _know_ how crazy that was making him? Oh, absolutely. No doubt. She arched her back into his hand as it explored her chest. Such thin fabric. He could feel not just the shape of the lace in her bra, but the hardness of her nipples behind it. He groaned faintly. “I can see that. Want to move this someplace with a door?”

She nodded kissed him hungrily again before standing, but once she was on her feet the professional façade fell back into place. “As long as I’m in the lab and on the clock,” she said evenly, as if she hadn’t just been groping him, “I’m your employee, nothing more.” She even extended her hand, to shake on the deal.

That was all that she wanted? The only condition? That was hardly anything. Gladly. Yes, he’d shake on that bargain. “Not a problem, Miss…” he assured her, trying to recall what her last name had been as he gripped her hand.

The playful glint came back into her eyes. “Jane,” she told him, sounding amused.

That was it. “Right, Jane Inbras.” He remembered now. How could he have forgotten, with such an inviting name? He stood, putting an arm around her back to direct her toward the stairs to his bedroom. “Let’s get you out of it now, shall we?”

“Yes,” she agreed emphatically. As soon as they approached the bottom of the stairs she took off at a run, shedding her suit jacket on the way up them. Rusty hurried up just as eagerly, but not as quickly. She had her heels dangling off of her fingers by the time he caught up, slightly winded, and kept her eyes locked on him as she dropped them and proceeded to unfasten her skirt.

Her panties were as blindingly white and lacy as the bra, standing out against her skin. He moved in quickly after that, pressing her into the railing and pulling her blouse off for her. He dropped it deliberately over the rail, hoping Brock would find it and take the hint if he came in. Not that he’d mind being _seen_ with someone like Jane, but he hardly wanted to be _interrupted_.

Good heavens, she was stunning. She could easily have been a dancer or escort, even a model. And she knew it, too, no doubt about that. But she preferred science. She liked science, she was going to give him profitable ideas for practically nothing, she was all over him, she looked like that, and…this was a dream, wasn’t it. Nothing this good could possibly just fall into his lap.

Jane was unbuttoning his shirt. Right there in the hallway. A thrill of excitement ran through him. If this _was_ a dream, he had no inclination to wake himself up from it.

* * *

Considering this had started with her thinking “eh, why not,” Jane was certainly enjoying herself. The excitement about getting a job, _here_ , where they probably had whole floors of fully stocked labs for anything she could imagine, translated easily into enthusiasm for sex. She probably would have fucked him again in the end anyway, and right now she was feeling sexy and grateful and generally fantastic. Why _not_ celebrate? She had nothing else planned till her shift at the club, and Rusty was fun to play with.

She noticed the way he dropped her shirt right over the railing on purpose, and she liked the way he looked at her when she stepped out of her skirt. She’d liked the way he’d gone silent when he looked over her inventions, too. Weirdly, the more of her corporate outfit and demeanor she shed, the more empowered she felt.

She would have been fine, honestly, with doing a striptease right there in the hallway, flashing her ass at the window, and climbing onto his dick. But he tugged her toward one door and practically shoved her through it, and she wasn’t going to _fight_ for exhibitionism.

For whatever reason, he was more assertive this time than he had been a few years ago. Maybe the money made him more confident. Maybe it had been that long since he’d gotten laid. She didn’t care either way, because the way he tugged her bra straight down and ran his hands over her was _hot_. The friction of his cool skin against her hard nipples made all her nerves light up. Liking throwing gasoline on a fire. She moaned faintly and attempted to focus on opening up his shirt. Very inconsiderate of him, wearing something with so many finicky little buttons. The thought made her want to laugh, though she choked on the sound as he pulled her into another fervent kiss. Still, her silent complaint had amused her. She _loved_ challenges like this. The suspense that little buttons like that created. It drove her crazy, but it made it more fun somehow, too.

She got the last of the buttons undone and pressed against him. His hands might be cool and dry, but his skinny chest gave off plenty of heat. So did his back, despite his almost total lack of butt. She ran her hands over both, eyes closed, letting her base instincts control her. He reciprocated, reminding her how much she’d liked the way his hands fit around _her_ ass. Little moans of enthusiasm were muffled as he kept kissing her.

They were still on their feet, somehow, when the backs of her legs bumped into the bed. She fell back deliberately onto it, pulling him with her and turning so that she’d have the dominant position. Much better. She straddled him, reaching around to unhook her bra properly before turning her attention to his belt. There was a significant tent in the front of his slacks, and she really wanted to get at the cause of it.

Rusty’s body language clearly said he was on board with this, but he also distracted her from the task by cupping her breasts and lightly kneading them. She was surprised he hadn’t asked yet if they were real. So many men did. They were.

She finished pulling his belt out of the way and made quick work of the fly. As he pulled her in closer, she pushed her fingers down the front of his underpants and her breathing quickened. Hell yes, that was what she wanted! She was so wet. Condom. Needed to get a condom on him. She rolled to the side to tug her damp panties off, producing the prophylactic from their concealed pocket as she did so. “Here.” She passed it over, leaving him to unwrap it as she slowly pulled his slacks and underpants down. He whimpered in anticipation, and she squirmed eagerly as shoved the clothing down past his knees. Shit, fuck, hell yes, she wanted—no, _needed_ —to feel him pushing inside her, needed the moments of blinding pleasure an orgasm would bring. She—

She felt something warm and viscous spurt onto her thigh.

Damn it.

“You took too long!” Rusty said petulantly, not meeting her eyes. He folded his arms across his bare chest defiantly, but the attitude didn’t hide the blush of embarrassment in his face.

Jane sat back on her heels, looking around for a tissue. Still rather pink, Rusty grabbed one from his bedside table and passed it to her. She wiped her thigh off thoroughly, deciding what to do next. She was disappointed, but it wasn’t like she could walk out of here and never see him again. Maybe he wasn’t her boss right this minute, but she was going to be working for him. If she made a big deal out of this, it would be a real downer on the whole work environment thing. She didn’t need that kind of complication.

Besides, this (sadly) wasn’t her first rodeo. She knew from experience that if she stuck around, she’d probably get another shot in an hour or two. She’d just been thinking about how she enjoyed the suspense leading up to sex, right? This was just…more suspense. Lots of suspense.

“What?” she said to the awkward silence, raising her eyebrows austerely at him. “If you’re waiting for me to apologize for being too hot, you’re gonna be waiting a long time.” She flopped backward onto the bed.

“I’ll wait,” Rusty said dryly. Jane closed her eyes, but she could still feel his on her. “Just make yourself at home, why don’t you.”

“If you insist.” Just for a second, her smile got away from her, tweaking one corner of her mouth upward.

There was another long pause. This one felt a little less awkward. After a minute, she felt him shift his position and settle back on the mattress beside her. “So.” He made a show of clearing his throat. “You want to…watch a movie or something?”

She opened her eyes. There _was_ a giant tv screen built into the wall opposite the bed. Which was also giant. The whole room was an exercise in scale and opulence, really. Seemed a little excessive for one small man.

“Sure,” she said, crossing her arms comfortably behind her head. “That works.”

Rusty brightened immediately, turning to hit some button on a remote she couldn’t even see. The tv immediately came to life, displaying some news channel talk show. Ugh. Either he saw the look on her face or felt the same way, because he quickly changed the channel. The next channel turned out to be a basketball game, which disappeared as quickly as Rusty could hit the button. After a few more clicks, he paused.

A guy in an orange shirt and cowboy had came on the screen, crooning some fruity song from the back of his horse. “Oh look,” Rusty said happily, “ _Oklahoma!_ is just starting.”

Jane watched for a minute, unimpressed by the way the brainless baritone kept calling everything ‘beautiful.’ “What is this crap?”

“Oh come on!” Rusty propped himself up on one elbow, turning to her indignantly. “ _Everyone_ knows _Oklahoma!”_

She nodded begrudgingly. The tune did tickle something in the back of her memory, so she must have heard it somewhere along the line. But this farmer belting on the tv was still stupid.

“Are you telling me,” Rusty demanded, sitting up completely, “you don’t like Rogers and Hammerstein? Honestly?”

Still on her back, stretched out and unashamedly nude, Jane shrugged. “Kinda prefer Beastie Boys and Run-DMC.”

“Who?”

“Are you kidding me?” she challenged him in return. “How old _are_ you?”

“Well excuse me for not listening to that modern garbage,” he retorted. “At least I have _culture_!”

“They’ve both been around since the 80s!”

“And Rogers and Hammerstein have been around since the fourties!”

“The 1940s? That’s not _culture_.” She found herself sitting up, arms crossed under her breasts.

“What, like you would know it if it hit you in the face?”

“Well _you_ wouldn’t know _music_ if it hit you in the face! I bet you don’t even like rock!”

“Oh, please. Like you do? Who wrote _Dark Side of the Moon?_ ”

That was too easy. “Pink Floyd, what do you take me for?” Maybe he wasn’t completely hopeless after all. “What was Rush’s best album?”

“That is totally subjective!” He paused, also starting to mellow. “ _Moving Pictures._ ”

Jane smiled at him, reclining back onto the mattress. “Alright, maybe you’re not a total lost cause.”

“Hmph.” Rusty was slower to settle down, though he did lean back against the headboard. “You ever listen to any _Asia_?” he asked tentatively after a minute.

“One or two albums, I think? They’re the guys who did _Heat of the Moment,_ right?”

“Hmph,” he said again. “Well. I guess that’s alright, then.”

The stupid cowboy had stopped singing and was busy trying to ask some blonde to a dance. It wasn’t exactly engrossing to Jane, but she wasn’t the one with the remote. She swallowed a yawn and rolled over to watch Rusty, instead. He wasn’t _doing_ anything interesting, but she’d never taken any time to really look at him before. If she told him that his naked body was more interesting than the crap on tv, he’d probably take it as a compliment. Her mouth quirked up briefly at the thought. His body wasn’t exactly a wonderland, though admittedly she wasn’t too picky when it came to looks. He was perfectly serviceable, if you didn’t mind skinny, bald, and bespectacled—just not exactly swoon-worthy, either. (Not that Jane had ever swooned in her life. She couldn’t even imagine _what_ it would take to make her do something so insipid.)

At any rate, she wasn’t going to lie here drooling over his abs, but it was still _interesting_. That long, puckered scar below his stomach, for example. Was that an old school appendectomy? No, wrong place. This was closer to a cesarean, though _that_ seemed unlikely. Her eyes travelled around, stopping at his right wrist. Another pale scar, small and circular. He’d certainly led an exciting life, she’d give him that! Hard to believe it of the guy sitting next to her on his California King mattress, humming a showtune.

The scarring on his left shoulder was even more impressive: a thick, ragged line all the way around the top of his arm. Now that _had_ to tell a story. She shifted herself closer, running a finger along the thick, lumpy surface.

“What’re you doing?” He turned his head toward her.

“Checking out your scars,” she answered without embarrassment. “What happened here?”

“A couple of Guild goons ripped it off,” he said, sounding annoyed. “Be quiet, I’m trying to watch this!”

Jane wasn’t interested in being quiet. She was interested in his shoulder. “Holy shit, how do you not have awful nerve damage? They ripped it _off_? And you reattached it?”

“Not personally, but yes,” he answered tartly. “The whole thing. I had to make a tourniquet out of a Christmas tree stand.”

For the first time since meeting him, she was genuinely impressed. That showed real ingenuity and resilience. She knew what a pain in the ass life as a super scientist could be, knew that growing up in that life was even harder, and knew that having a bodyguard on staff was par for the course. A few scars were to be expected. Hell, she had a couple of her own, though more of them were from chemical burns than murder attempts. But Rusty talked about losing his arm as if it had been a minor inconvenience. That was level of indifference was something she could only hope to aspire to.

“That’s amazing,” she cooed, running her fingers over the scar again. “I can’t even imagine.”

“Oh, yes, there was blood _everywhere_ ,” he told her, eyes back on the tv screen. “That speedsuit was totally ruined, stains like that never…” He trailed off, turning to watch the way her breathing changed as she stroked the damaged tissue. She peeked up through her lashes and saw the moment it dawned on him that she found the scarring attractive. “ _Oh!_ ” His attitude changed immediately. “You like that, do you?” It was entertaining, watching his ego inflate. “Well then, how about this?” He rolled onto his side, displaying his back for her and gesturing to an area near his spine. “Giant spike, went right through me.”

The scar was actually less impressive, but that might have been because of its age. It was certainly large enough to back up his claim, but over the years this one had faded to a circle of smooth white, barely discernable from the natural paleness of his skin. Still, being impaled was nothing to sneeze at. She ran her fingers over the mark. “When was that?”

“Oh, years ago. I was still a boy.” He rolled back toward her, making them abruptly intimately close again.

“Sounds like a rough childhood,” she remarked, letting her fingers explore his stomach instead. They found the long line she’d studied earlier. “And what was this?”

“Oh, that was just JJ.”

Jane raised an eyebrow. “Your brother? What’d he do, try to gut you?”

“No, he…well actually yes, now that you mention it, he _did_ try to kill me.”

“Yikes.” She might have said more, but the music blaring from the tv had become distracting. “What the fuck is a surrey?”

If he was phased by the change in conversation, he didn’t show it. “Well, _obviously_ , it’s…” He faltered. “Well, it’s pulled by horses! And has a fringe on top.”

They both listened for a moment. “That fringe on top must be a big fucking deal,” she remarked dryly. “He makes it sound like the Ferrari of the old west, pulling in pussy left and right.”

Rusty sniffed disdainfully. “Personally, I prefer the X-12.”

“The what now?”

“My personal _jet_.”

“How would you pick up women in a _jet_?” 

“Well obviously I don’t do it while it’s _flying_.”

Jane grinned. “What, you don’t drop down to 200 feet, roll down the window, and shout ‘hey baby, how’d you like a ride?’”

He gave her a dirty look.

Her smile grew. “I don’t know, if it was the I-95 at rush hour I bet you’d get some takers.”

Rusty snorted in what might have been amusement. “The roads here _are_ atrocious.”

The singing, thankfully, had stopped. She went back to focusing on his scars. “You don’t mind, do you?” she murmured, running her hand seductively along his upper arm. She was fairly sure he wouldn’t have any objections, and he proved her right. He raised even less objections when she put her lips on his shoulder, and when she moved her mouth over to his neck his reaction was basically the _opposite_ of an objection. By the time some new guy started singing about Kansas City on the tv, neither of them was paying much attention.

And by the time the movie got to the big final number, Jane was already on her way back home, feeling excellent about herself, Rusty Venture, and the world in general. Though she didn’t realize she was doing it, she whistled _Surrey with a Fringe on Top_ all the way to the train station.


	3. Chapter 3

“Come on Rust, give it up, she’s a robot, right? An android.”

“Oh-ho, I should say _not_.” Rusty perched on the edge of White’s desk, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. “Very much flesh and blood.”

White’s features scrunched up in disgust. “Oh gross, are you telling me you—”

“Oh, grow up!” Rusty snapped scornfully. “Besides,” he added after a beat of contemplative silence, “there was nothing _gross_ about it. She’s absolutely divine.”

White spun his chair around in a circle. “Well that just _proves_ she’s a robot, then. No normal woman who looks like that would let you anywhere near her.”

“I’ll have you know, I could get plenty of attractive women if I wanted.” White and Billy exchanged looks, which just irritated him all the more. “Why would you think she’s a robot, anyway?”

“Cause she’s hot,” Billy explained, “and she’s _smart_. Like, freaky smart. Where’d you even find her?”

He declined to answer that question, because he knew what hay they’d make with the information. “How smart?” he asked instead.

“For starters, she practically got wet looking at our chemical supplies,” White told him. “That ain’t normal. No one should be _that_ into mayo…what was it, Billy?”

“Maitotoxin,” Billy supplied. “It was a little unnerving.”

“She’s a chemist, what do you expect?”

White shrugged. “Yeah, only she’s _not_ just a chemist! You know what she started work on this morning? I asked what she was doing, and you know what she says?”

Obviously no, he did not. Rusty crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows, waiting.

“She says she’s rigging this little bomb up so it’ll release a cloud of aerosolized nanobots!”

“ _Burrowing_ nanobots,” Billy interjected. “ _Flesh_ burrowing nanobots.”

What was the problem here? Yes, it was a little dark, perhaps, but it was certainly an impressive invention. Oh, wait, robots were kind of a _thing_ for White. “You’re just upset that my girlfriend’s better at robotics than you,” he sniffed.

That got stares from both of them. Rusty gave them a sour look. “What?”

Billy and White exchanged looks. “Are you sure she’s your girlfriend?” Billy asked in a gentle tone that irritated Rusty all the more.

“Cause I’m pretty sure she propositioned me the other day,” White added.

Oh for goodness sake, it was almost laughable! “Don’t be ridiculous,” he told them with a self-assured smile. “You must have misunderstood. She’s probably just trying to be polite.”

“Polite, right,” White answered doubtfully.

Rusty shook his head. “You’re telling me she’s a brilliant chemist _and_ robotics engineer who enjoys her work and tolerates you two, and that’s a problem?”

They exchanged glances again. He was really started to find that annoying. Clearly, they’d already gone over what they wanted to say when he asked them about Jane’s first few days. “It’s not so much that it’s a _problem_ ,” Billy lisped. “But doesn’t it seem a little suspicious to you?”

“No,” Rusty snapped. “Because if you must know, Jane and I go way back.”

“Oh yeah?” White looked skeptical. “Then how come you never mentioned her before?”

He glared. “I don’t have to answer to you! This is _my_ company!”

“I just think she’s trying to snow you,” White shrugged. “You don’t want to listen, that’s fine, buddy. Your funeral.”

“You don’t think I can look after myself? Brock’s looking into her credentials.”

“Sorry but…isn’t that something you’d usually do _before_ hiring her?”

He turned his glare on Billy. “ _You_ want to run this company? Because I promise you, it’s nothing but a giant headache.” Neither of them gave him an immediate response, and he threw up his hands, pushing away from the desk. “Fine, _don’t_ trust me, it’s no skin off _my_ neck! But you’re going to work with her.” Rusty put an air of finality into it, the way he used to do with the boys when they whined about something. “It’s not as though either of _you_ are turning out anything profitable right now!”

He turned his back on them, heading for the exit, but he could still hear them talking behind him.

“Well, can’t say we didn’t try.” White.

“Nope. Are you done for the night?” Billy.

“Ha, I was done an hour ago.” White again.

“I heard that,” Rusty called as he walked away, putting a warning into his voice.

“Okay,” White called back without any trace of concern. “Hey, Billy’s mom’s making pot roast tonight, you wanna come?”

He didn’t dignify that with an answer. His stomach thought pot roast sounded pretty good, actually, but he hardly wanted to spend his free hours with his father’s old crowd. Besides, he needed to go find Brock, so he could ask him to get an OSI background check on Jane.

* * *

“Okay, Doc. You’re not gonna believe this.”

Grateful for the interruption, Rusty set down the list of charities that Jonas had donated to the year before. They all wanted money again this year, naturally, and if he turned them _all_ away he was going to get bad press.

One of Brock’s large hands was clutching a sizeable sheaf of papers. Oh, this must be the results on Jane. It hardly seemed necessary, given the impressive work she’d been doing since starting with them, but Brock’s attitude intrigued him. “What, is she a threat?”

“Can’t say,” Brock answered, which was infuriating. What was all the paper for, then? Luckily, he quickly expanded on the statement. “Could be? She _was_ with the Guild for a while, but…”

He’d _given_ Brock her resumé when he said to look into it! Honestly, he expected better results than that after nearly two weeks. “Yes, yes, she told me all of that up front!” He set the list of charities aside, surveying Brock sternly over his glasses. “What, is she still a member _now_?”

“Nah. No, everything on the resumé you gave me checked out alright. Went to college here but dropped out, worked food service for a few years before registering as a villain. The Guild actually sent over all her records when we asked, take a look.” He dropped a portion of the stack into Rusty’s lap. The page on top had an old photo of Jane, captioned with _Miss Chance_ , a short list that mentioned explosives and chemicals, and a birthdate. He took a moment to register the birthdate and do the math: 29. He took another moment to stroke his ego.

“When they couldn’t find her a good match,” Brock continued, “they shuffled her into henching instead. She worked for Madame Blue for a couple of years. Then, about ten months ago, she just quit. No reason given.”

“Well there’s nothing inherently suspicious about that,” Rusty objected. “Maybe she had a family emergency!”

“Funny you should mention that.” Brock tossed another folder into his lap. “She, uh, ever mention her family to you?”

“No, but why would sh…” He stopped speaking as he opened the folder. _Application for name change,_ it read at the top. _Jane Imbrassa._ That was…interesting, alright, but not damning. “So?”

“ _So_ , I couldn’t find anything on Jane Imbrassa. Nothing. Looks like it was a fake ID, a burner she used to get her current name.”

“And?” Get to the point already, man!

“They had to do some real digging,” Brock said, leaving whoever _they_ was rather vague. Whoever the OSI assigned to do Brock Samson’s paperwork, he supposed. This time, the paper he passed to Rusty was just one sheet. A birth certificate.

_Jane Anora Impossible. Mother: Renee Thomas. Father: Richard Impossible. City of New York._ The birthdate matched the ones from the Guild and the name change application.

“She’s Impossible’s _daughter_?”

Brock nodded. “And she’s going through a lot of effort to hide it.”

Rusty had to think. “So if he sent her to spy on me, why’s she making me millions instead?”

“She hasn’t made you anything yet,” Brock pointed out.

He waved that argument away. “You know what I mean.”

“I dunno. Might be a long game. Or maybe it’s not corporate espionage, but revenge.”

Revenge? “Revenge for what?”

Brock shrugged.

Professor Impossible’s daughter. He didn’t remember Impossible having any children, but it wasn’t as though he’d paid much attention to that smug jackass before he got himself superpowers. Jane didn’t _look_ anything like him, but he supposed it was possible. It _would_ explain why she was so good at science—Impossible had probably been training her since infancy. And he supposed, given Sally taking up with Jonas, the professor _might_ have a grudge against his. But that still didn’t mean he had anything to fear from Jane.

“Listen,” he told Brock, “all our best ideas right now are coming _from_ her. If she’s trying to hurt me, she’s not very good at it, is she?”

Brock looked like he was chewing on some idea—as much as he ever did, anyway. “I dunno, Doc. I’m just saying, she wouldn’t have to hurt the company to hurt _you_.”

He dismissed that out of hand, too. “She’s had plenty of opportunity. It’s not as though we’ve never been _alone_ together.” He didn’t quite succeed at keeping the satisfied smirk off of his face.

“And you don’t think that might—nah, you know what, never mind.”

Rusty sighed but tried to look indulgent. “Go on, say whatever it is you want to say.”

“Nope,” Brock said, shaking his head decisively and pulling a cigarette out of his pocket. “That’s not in my job description.” He lit it and headed toward the balcony. “There’s your info. You decide what to do with it.”  


* * *

Someone said something. It was hard to really give it any attention, with all her focus on the collar at the bottom of her Bunsen burner. Needed to get the air mix exactly right. She tweaked it ever so slightly with her gloved hand, decreasing the air. That was Rusty’s voice. What was he saying? It might have been _antimony hydride_. If so, that was a terrible idea. Calorie pills that made her throw up would be worse than useless. “Hold on.”

There. The mix on the burner was perfect. She reached for the dropper of magnesium hexahydrate. “What are you making, anyway?” he asked. She heard _that_ clearly enough.

“I said hold _on_ ,” she snapped at him, adding three drops to her solution before placing it over the burner. There. That should do it. She watched for a second just to make sure, but it would take some time to come up to the proper temperature. It wasn’t nice to keep the boss waiting forever.

Jane stepped back from the table and pushed her goggles up with the back of her wrist. “Okay, what now?”

He beamed at her. “I said happy two-week anniversary!”

She stared at him blankly.

“Ah-ha, did you think I’d forget?” He wagged a finger playfully at her.

“I thought you said antimony hydride,” she said, blinking a few times as she attempted to clear her head. Antimony might have made her vomit, but it made a lot more sense than the words actually coming out of his mouth. “Anniversary?”

“Of course!” His smile was starting to look a little forced, but it was still stuck to his face. “You’ve been working here two weeks as of today.”

“Ohhhhh.” The light bulb went on over her head. Relieved, she flashed him a quick smile before returning her attention to her solution. “Thanks.” What else had he asked? What was she making, right. “It’s a time release calorie supplement tablet. Or it will be, when I’m done.”

“Why would you want that?” He sounded genuinely perplexed.

“So I don’t keel over if I forget to eat,” she answered distractedly. “I thought that was obvious.”

“This thing—” He nodded toward the bubbling solution over her burner. “—eliminates the need for food? Is that what you’re saying?”

She bit down on the inside of her cheek, keeping her face impassive. “Well not permanently, obviously. You’d need a salad or a protein shake or something like that once in a while, not to mention a whole bunch of vitamins. But in a pinch, sure.”

“So, say, if I were going on a camping trip,” Rusty asked, which didn’t strike her as something very likely to ever happen. “Instead of packing a whole bunch of heavy food, I could just bring a bottle of these tablets along?”

“You’d still get hungry, if you were used to three square meals a day. It’s not lembas bread, it’s a supplement.”

“Right, right, but say I wasn’t used to—what’s lembas bread?”

She had to bite her cheek again. “You’ve never seen _Lord of the Rings_?”

“Oh, that big-budget thing they did? Sure, I caught it on tv at some point.”

He’d caught it on tv at some point. The inside of her cheek was starting to get swollen from all this biting down on it, but she managed to gaze impassively at him. “Which one?”

“What?”

“Which _one_ ,” she repeated testily. “There were three movies. One for each book. They won _Oscars_.”

Amazingly, he seemed to pick up on the fact that she was unimpressed. “Oh, of course! Sorry, I…you know, I can’t go out to the movies. Celebrity status and all that. I’d get mobbed.”

Jane wasn’t terribly mollified. “What, do you hate high fantasy or something?” she asked, tapping the toe of her sneakers against the floor.

Rusty had the nerve to look indignant. “You’ve got some nerve, don’t you! _No_ , as a matter of fact, I _don’t_ , missy! I tore through all the books when I was twelve, and again when I was eighteen.”

“Then why don’t you know what lembas bread is?”

“Oh for Pete’s sake!” He rolled his eyes. “Because I’ve been doing _real_ work for the past twenty-five years, and if you must know, I didn’t see the movies because there’s no way they could have lived up to my memories of the book. There, happy?”

Jane cocked her head to the side. The strange thing was that yes, she kind of _was_. He’d read the books, so he wasn’t completely irredeemable. Watching him get upset at her doubting his nerd cred was kind of hot. And without meaning to, he’d drawn her out of her science fog and into the conversation.

She took a nice slow breath in through her nose, breathing in the sharp but reassuring aroma of the chemicals. “Lembas bread is an Elven cracker that’s disproportionately filling,” she explained. “One bite is supposed to be enough to fill your stomach, and it virtually never expires.”

“Ah.” Rusty processed that before looking vaguely disappointed. “So that’s _not_ what you’re making?”

With a sliver of a smile, she shook her head. “Nah. It’ll keep you on your feet, but it won’t fill you up.”

“Hm.” His eyes suddenly lit up. “So you’re going to market it to supermodels?”

“No,” she reiterated patiently. Did he not ever invent things just for the hell of it? “I was just gonna take it so I don’t pass out at work.”

It finally dawned on him that she was making this for _herself_ , not to specifically to sell. And as soon as he turned his mind away from profit, he got back on the subject that she realized—belatedly—he’d been working toward from the start. “You need a real meal! How about tonight, my place?”

Jane shook her head. “It’s a Friday. I have work.”

“Oh, right. Tomorrow, then?”

Props to him for persistence, but she shook her head again. “Also work.”

He threw up his hands. “Are you ever _not_ working?”

“Pretty much no,” she shrugged. “That’s why I’m inventing this pill.”

Realizing she was serious, not just putting him off, he put his exasperation back under wraps at once and draped an arm over her shoulder. “Jane, dear, you have to take care of yourself. I can’t have my top employee falling over from exhaustion!”

With terrible timing, a yawn snuck up on her. She tried to swallow it, and when that failed, attempted to conceal it with her hand. “Again. That’s why I’m working on this.”

Rusty clucked his tongue sympathetically. “No, no, you’re going to work yourself to death. I _insist_ that you find a night off for some pampering.” His fingers walked over from the outside of her shoulder to the base of her stiff neck, gently massaging the muscles. “You know,” he offered, lowering his voice persuasively. “A square meal…maybe some lobster? With wine? Music and a bubble bath? There’s a jacuzzi on the patio.” His hands worked slowly back out her shoulders, thumbs finding where she carried the tension. “Something you find…relaxing.”

Damn it. She knew exactly what he was getting at, and she didn’t care. Or rather, she did care, but she wanted to care the opposite way. He was painting a very tempting picture, and she could use some decent sex—the batteries in her vibrator had died four days ago, and she hadn’t had time to run to the store and buy more. “Shrimp cocktail,” she sighed. “I used to love that cocktail sauce.”

“Done,” he said almost too eagerly.

She sighed again. If he wanted to feed her shrimp and rub all the tension out of her neck before getting her naked, that was fine by her. “Monday,” she mumbled, closing her eyes to enjoy the pressure between her shoulder blades. “Monday night’s clear.”

“Perfect!” He still sounded _way_ too excited about this. He wasn’t even the one getting a massage and someone else’s hot tub out of it. “You’ll already be here till five, you can just come on up when you’re done with work.” He paused, and so did his hands. “Unless you want to go home and change?”

Jane snorted and opened her eyes. “Oh yeah, let me run all the way home to pull on some crotchless panties and a slinky evening gown, and catch the train all the way _back_ here with all the creeps on there checking me out. Just so you can get me back out of them ten minutes after I step off the elevator.”

“I was just _asking_ ,” he defended his ego against her quiet laughter. “Fine, wear whatever you want, it makes no difference to me!”

“That’s the spirit,” she told him with a cheerful wink.

He loosened his grip on his ego enough to smile. “Alright then! Monday after work. It’s a date.”

She looked back at the Bunsen burner. It was getting close now. Time to put her attention back where it belonged. “Sounds good.” With her gloved hands, she shoved her goggles back into place. “See you then.”

He said something else, she knew, but she wasn’t really paying attention anymore.

* * *

It was five-o-nine. Pete had kicked his office chair away from his desk, spun around, and proclaimed it quitting time exactly fifteen minutes ago. When she’d glanced at her watch and pointed it that it technically wasn’t, he’d casually shrugged it off. “Close enough. I’ve had enough Monday, haven’t you?”

No, she had not. She was still trying to increase the MPa for the tiny bomb she was working on. So far, she was fairly confident in its destructive capabilities and felt it would do fine in a field test—but it just didn’t pack as much punch as she wanted it to, proportionally. If she tweaked the composition just slightly, maybe…

But Pete said “Monday,” and that word snuck around the back of her brain for a minute before ambushing her as she went to fan a yawn. Monday. Right. Monday. No shift at the club to get ready for. Real food instead. And a hot tub. And sex.

Maybe she should have sucked it up and headed home to change after all, she mused while cleaning up her work area. The burnt sugar smell of nitroglycerin hung in the air, and Jane was sure the scent clung to her skin and clothes. Oh well, at least it wasn’t thioacetone or something. Could be lots worse. She should think about aerosolizing…well, not thioacetone, it didn’t do well at room temperature, but something truly awful. Worse than tellurium or sulfur. Imagine rolling a bomb into a room and having the scent of putrescine or something pour out of it. Probably not the most effective way to clear a room, but in terms of entertainment factor it’d be hard to beat.

Anyway. She smelled like nitroglycerin, she had marks around her eyes from her goggles, and she was wearing yoga pants and a spandex tank top under her lab jacket. She’d be turning up in the penthouse having _obviously_ made no effort whatsoever.

But so what? Rusty had already seen her in sexy clothes and knew she’d spent all day in the lab. She didn’t _need_ to make a good impression. That was kind of refreshing. Besides, he’d talked about a jacuzzi and bubble bath. If she went straight for those, she’d be relaxed and clean by the time she had to sit down at a dinner table and attempt civil conversation. If he even _expected_ civil conversation. He’d probably be fine just hearing about her latest project and watching her suck cocktail sauce off a jumbo shrimp. That was nice, too. She didn’t have to fake anything.

By the time she dumped the lab coat and crossed the lobby to the east elevator, she found herself looking forward to the evening ahead. How long had it been since she’d been in a jacuzzi by herself? Not since she left home. More than a decade ago, now. She imagined stripping off her clothes and sinking into the near-scalding water, settling her back against a jet, playing some music on her phone and sipping at a nice cold drink…something tropical and ridiculous, like a mojito or daiquiri. There were a lot of things from her childhood that she didn’t miss whatsoever. What was the opposite of missing something? Forgetting it, she supposed. There was lots she’d like to forget. But there were some good memories wedged in there, too.

She smiled to herself and scanned her employee badge against the elevator panel for the upper floors. The doors slid open on the same pristine, empty hallway. Shouldn’t that bodyguard be around here somewhere? There were plenty of villains in this city, not to mention regular petty criminals. Sure, she’d needed her ID card to get up here, but how hard would it be to hack into the security system once you got past that desk jockey downstairs?

Ah, Jane, what do you care anyway? You _want_ the bodyguard hanging around while you take a dip in the hot tub? He _was_ pretty attractive…but he was also OSI. And she wanted nothing to do with anyone in OSI. Ever again.

So instead of worrying about the lack of security, she admired the art deco styling of the hallway. The carpet reminded her of a hotel she’d stayed in once, and the whole thing kind of screamed _look at me, look how rich I am_ with an undertone of _I love the 1970s._ But at least it attempted to have some personality. At least the sofa in that giant living room she’d sat in last time had been comfortable. This place reminded her of home, yes, but home if someone with a soul had been hired to decorate.

She didn’t have any more time to ruminate on the décor, because her host made his appearance. “There you are!” he exclaimed with delight, offering his hand to escort her into main room. “I thought we agreed on five o’clock.”

Jane carefully lifted one eyebrow, concealing her amusement as she asked, “Shouldn’t you have been here right at the elevator to greet me?” If he was going to pretend to be a gentleman, he needed to actually play the part.

“Well yes, but _you_ , missy, were _late_.” His pointed nose scrunched up slightly. “And you smell like nitroglycerin. Caught up in your work again?”

He hadn’t said _you smell like burnt sugar_ or _you smell like chemicals_. He’d _known_. It was so rare in her life these days, to have somebody _know_. It surprised a genuine smile out of her. “Guilty as charged. If you wanna point me in the direction of the jacuzzi, I’ll try to wash some of the smell off.”

“Nonsense.” He was leading her _through_ the living room, not pausing at the sofa or going anywhere near the doors that she glimpsed the patio through. “That’s for _after_ dinner. It’s been ready for twenty minutes.”

“It’s shrimp cocktail,” she objected, shaking off his hand so she could go look longingly through the patio doors. “What’s it going to do, get cold?” She gave a push on the door, and it opened smoothly. The air outside was still cool, still more spring than summer. Her skin of her bare arms immediately contracted, leaving her with goosebumps. But sure enough, there _was_ a jacuzzi, already bubbling, a ring of built-in lights around it creating an almost eerie blue glow against the falling dark. She strode over, only vaguely aware of Rusty trailing behind her, and dipped a hand into the water. Bliss.

That’s it, fuck it, she was getting in there right now. Rusty could just fucking deal, because it would take a team of horses to keep her out of this hot tub. She unceremoniously peeled her tank top off, letting the goosebumps spread over her back and chest, hardening her nipples. She kicked off her sneakers and pulled off her pants, sitting on the edge of the tub only to remove her socks. Rusty said absolutely nothing. She glanced over her shoulder as she slid her long legs over the edge, smiling when she got a look at the frozen expression on his face. Then she slid into the hot water, all the way up to her neck. She’d worn her hair up in a top-knot today in anticipation of this, so that she could soak every damn muscle from her chin down.

She sighed in deep contentment and stretched out her right leg, letting just her toes break the surface of the water. She wiggled them happily and submerged them again. “This is incredible,” she said emphatically, closing her eyes and tipping her head back against the edge. “Just bring the food down here, because I’m never getting out.”

“I’m not your servant,” Rusty’s voice responded, closer than she’d expected. She opened her eyes to find him right at the edge of the tub, in the process of removing his slacks. Irritation flashed through her: damn it, how was he supposed to bring her food and a mimosa and a towel, if he was in the hot tub, too?

But, as he’d pointed out, he wasn’t her servant. This was his home and his business—and damn it, his jacuzzi. The hot water would have to be enough for now. “I know,” she conceded, sinking another inch deeper into the tub. “Wishful thinking.” Her eyes closed again, but she felt movement as he stepped in and took a seat beside her. _Right_ beside her.

“You’d like to have me as your servant?” he asked suggestively, leaning in even closer.

“Yes,” Jane admitted, eyes still closed, “but you wouldn’t like what I’d tell you to do.”

“Oh really?” His hand slid easily over her thigh in the water. “And why is that?”

“Because I’d tell you to bring me a drink and a towel.”

He was undeterred. “And?”

Her shoulders rose briefly out of the water in a shrug. “I don’t know. Fuck off for an hour so I can relax and enjoy the jacuzzi?”

The expression on his face indicated that wasn’t the answer he’d been hoping for. She had a decent idea what he’d been expecting her to say, and that meant he clearly didn’t know how drastically overrated hot tub sex was. You’d think, given sex was great and jacuzzies were great, that they’d combine into something incredible. But they just didn’t. They were both infinitely better on their own.

He was still looking offended, stupid man. She smiled, though. If he was that dedicated to catering to her every whim, she was more than willing to play. “I mean…” She rotated, draping her knees over his lap. “You _want_ me relaxed and clean, right?”

The affect was instantaneous. Rusty brought his wrist up to his face, speaking into a fancy watch that must have been waterproof. “Brock, would you bring a couple of towels and two red mocho coo…” He trailed off as she shook her head vehemently. She _remembered_ red mocho coolers and that was _not_ what she wanted tonight. He sighed. “A pitcher of ice water out to the patio?”

There was a pause before a curt, macho voice came out of the watch. “You in danger?”

Jane traced her finger along the scar on his shoulder and smiled wickedly as he failed to control his response. “Er…not exactly.”

“Sorry, can’t help ya.” The connection ended.

Rusty sighed, more elaborately than before. He made an excellent martyr. “Helper?” he called, raising his voice this time.

She had time to raise her eyebrows inquisitively before a dilapidated robot raced through the doors. It stopped beside the jacuzzi and emitted a series of beeps. “Bring some water and towels out, would you?” Rusty asked it. “There’s a good robot.” It focused its lifeless eyes on Jane for a moment before emitting another stream of beeps and hurrying back inside. Weirdly, she felt like she was being judged.

“Where were we?” The second the robot was gone, Rusty put his attention firmly back on her.

She stretched her legs out and grinned. “You were about to massage my feet…servant.”

He was intrigued, if not excited. “What do I get if I do?

“The satisfaction of knowing you’ve pleased me,” she answered, tone aloof. But she threw in a wink before closing her eyes and leaning back into a comfortable recline.

After only a short wait, she felt both his hands close around her right foot, two thumbs pressing up into her arches. That was…ohhhh, that was nice. Not better than sex, but, well, better than _bad_ sex, and better than the jacuzzi itself had been, which was saying something. She breathed out everything in her lungs as even more tension fled her body. She hadn’t realized she had so much tension _in_ her.

“Not bad, eh?” he said smugly, correctly judging her reaction. “I took a class on massage in college. Well, not really a _class_ so much as spring break in Thailand, but boy—” He laughed. “Did I learn a lot on _that_ trip! White wouldn’t come, but Werner and Mike and I—” He laughed again. “We bought ourselves out of a lot of trouble, let me tell you. You’d think, it’s Thailand, anything goes there, but you’d be surprised. One wrong word in a bar, and you’ve got yourself a whole crowd of angry locals. We let Werner handle most of the fighting, but I had a few tricks up my sleeve too, and when we got out of there, well…” Again, he chuckled at the antics in his memory.

Jane let the words wash over her with the jacuzzi bubbles. It didn’t matter who Mike and Werner were, and she didn’t particularly care what they’d said to piss of a bunch of Thais. But there was something soothing about the sound of him prattling on as his thumbs loosened a knot in the arch of her foot.

A noise that managed to sound both like an out-of-tune radio and a disapproving father snapped her from her reverie. She wasn’t quite startled enough to yank her foot free, but her eyes flew open and she lifted her head. Oh, it was just the robot, back with a tray and stack of fluffy white towels.

“Yes, right there,” Rusty instructed, and it made a sharp _bleep_ before setting its delivery down on the jacuzzi ledge. It had even brought glasses along with the pitcher of water, which displayed solid extrapolation and deductive reasoning. She wanted to be impressed by that, but the way the thing _stared_ at her after completing its task was kind of unnerving. Its lifeless yellow lightbulb eyes fastened on her for an uncomfortable length of time. Then it turned to Rusty and made more bad radio noises.

“This is Jane, Helper,” he responded calmly, as though he’d understood it. “I invited her here.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

The robot made a short, staticky proclamation and turned back, fastening Jane with what she could only describe as a death stare before rotating sharply and retreating indoors.

Ignoring the water for the time being, Rusty picked up her left foot and started giving it the same treatment as her right. Her eyes rolled back and she relaxed to the point where she almost slipped underwater. Her brain, however, stayed active this time.

“So,” she said, repositioning her back by the water jet without moving her feet, “are we going to talk about the fact that your robot hates me?”

“That’s ridiculous! He’s a robot. He’s just been with the family a long time, and he’s gotten protective over the years. You were unfamiliar, that’s all.”

And yet, she couldn’t help noticing, he referred to the bot as a _he_ , not an _it_. And robots weren’t supposed to _get protective_. “So he’s not going to murder me, then?” she asked doubtfully.

“Of course not!” Rusty dismissed the idea out of hand. “He’s a nursemaid, not some sort of assassin droid!” Jane was still pretty sure that robot wanted to fucking kill her, but Rusty’s thumbs got to the ball of her foot and she couldn’t find it in her to worry too much.

“So anyway,” he went on, resuming his story. “The police turn up, and Werner’s accent’s so thick they can’t understand him, Mike’s crying in the corner, and I’m doing my best not to bleed out while explaining that we weren’t the ones who started the whole mess, and did I mention we had money, lots of money?”

She did wonder how much of this anecdote was actually true. Maybe all of it. She’d never gone to Thailand—or anywhere interesting, really—but she knew how having a super-scientist father could make life exciting. Then again, Rusty clearly loved painting himself in the best light possible, so probably _not_ all of it. Whatever. He was so engrossed in talking, he’d moved on to her calves without being asked. And if he kept going like this, he could make up heroic stories all the live long day as far as she was concerned.

“And then the next day, we wake up and where’s Werner, hm? I thought he was probably just out getting some breakfast, but Mike was convinced something terrible had happened to him. I told him, look Mike, there’s no sign of a struggle, don’t you think we would have heard something if a bunch of Thais broke in and tried to kidnap a 230-pound Ünderland prince? But he just wouldn’t calm down, so naturally I…”

Good grief, talk about a man in love with the sound of his own voice! “Mm-hm,” she mumbled, adding an occasional “Wow” or “Oh shit” to give the illusion of engagement.

He made it all the way to her right knee (and another twist in the unending story of spring break) before noticing that the hot water had wrinkled his fingertips. He glanced at his watch, exclaiming “Look at the time!” in what sounded like genuine surprise. “You were supposed to tell me to _stop_ at some point, you know!” He wagged a finger at her, doing an almost-passable job of looking displeased.

“Why would I do that?” She stretched luxuriously and fanned a yawn before rotating around to pour herself a glass of water. Most of the ice in it had melted. In a moment of spontaneous thoughtfulness, she poured one out for Rusty, too. “You’re a pretty good servant,” she admitted as she passed it to him. “I might tell you to do more things to me later.”

“Ha, don’t get ahead of yourself. That was fun, but we both know who’s really the boss here.”

“Yeah. Me.” She tossed her hair and grinned before taking a sip of water. It was still cold, refreshing against the heat that had started to become almost overpowering, and it made her feel sharper.

Rusty snorted into his glass, but it was nice that he didn’t try to hide his amusement. “In your dreams.”

In her dreams? Jane took another sip of water. No, she didn’t want to be anyone’s boss. Just her own. For fuck’s sake, she could barely look after _herself_ ; the thought of being in charge of anyone else sounded like one more stress she didn’t need. Hard pass. Uncomfortable with this turn in the conversation, she turned it back around on him. “And what sort of dreams do _you_ have?”

“Oh, you know,” he said, which wasn’t any kind of answer.

“Not really,” she said, patiently setting her glass down and sitting back deeper in the water.

“Well, I…” He blinked, a faintly perplexed expression coming on to his face. “All of it. Fame, power, money, love. Seeing my boys become as successful as I am, or at least close. Maybe find out what the hell I did to Malcom that made him hate me so much.”

“Malcom?” She stretched her arms out to the sides, letting them float. They really should get out soon, she supposed. She was going to be a walking prune if she stayed in much longer.

“The Monarch.” Rusty rolled his eyes, momentarily gazing into the almost-darkness of the city sky way above. “My nemesis. You did your research before asking for a job here, don’t pretend you don’t know about him.”

“Touché,” she nodded to him, ever so slightly impressed that he’d bothered to remember anything about her interview besides the sex that followed it. “I know who The Monarch is. I had no idea you were on a first-name basis.”

For some reason, he grinned like a fox at that. “We’re not. He _hates_ that I know who he really is, that’s why I make a point of using it all the time.”

“Kind of a dick move there,” she observed, picking her water glass back up and raising it in a mock toast to show that she approved.

“He tries to kill me at least five times a year!” he retorted. “Every few weeks he pops by to vandalize something or attempt to torture me. It’s only gotten worse since he found out we’re related.”

“You are?” That was news to her.

He shrugged his skinny white shoulders. “Some of the Guild seemed to think so, when they abducted me a few months back. He’s in denial about it, of course.”

“So you try to rub it in.” She nodded in appreciation. “You going to invite him around for Easter dinner?”

Rusty laughed. “I _should_! Not that we do anything for Easter around here, but _he_ doesn’t have to know that.”

She smirked. “You think he’d come?”

“Not on your life!” The laughter subsided slightly. “He’d take it as a fresh excuse to come try something asinine, though.”

“So the Easter you just said is going to be boring gets a little more interesting.” She examined her wrinkled fingertips, sighed, and stood up. “I don’t see the downside, personally.”

“You _don’t_ see the downside in my annoying arch-enemy turning up to interrupt dinner with a horde of idiots in butterfly costumes?”

Jane lifted one shoulder. “I don’t know. Could be pretty funny.” It certainly beat sitting at a long marble dinner table, poking at her food while her father ate and read the paper or talked on the phone. If he was even there at all—he wouldn’t know a holiday if it bit him in the ass. Though the times he hadn’t been there to insist on formality were much better memories.

“Well then, why don’t you come by and watch,” Rusty said acidly. She turned around, because without seeing his face she couldn’t tell whether he was joking. Sadly, since she was naked and dripping wet, she would never _know_ whether he’d been joking. The second she turned toward him, his eyebrows shot up and the rest of his face went still.

Silently, she laughed to herself. Men _always_ seemed to do that. Always. Didn’t matter if it was their first time seeing her boobs, or the twentieth. Not that she was usually with any given guy more than once or twice.

Shaking her head and smiling in amusement, she climbed out of the tub and grabbed a towel, hastily wrapping it between her and the chilly air. Then she looked back over her shoulder at Rusty. “Coming?”

“Of course.” He got up less gracefully than she had, bending awkwardly. “Pass me that towel?”

“What am I, your servant?” she teased, tossing back the words from earlier. But she passed the towel to him anyway. While he was making himself a skirt out of it, she scooped up her clothes and made a beeline for the doors. The spring air was rapidly undoing all the good work that her time in the jacuzzi had done.

Once she was a safe distance into the warm penthouse, she dropped the towel and proceeded to pull her clothes back on. Part of her was sorely tempted to dine in nothing but the towel, just to make him crazy. But the rest of her wanted to properly enjoy the shrimp she’d been promised.

The robot—Helper, he’d called him—rolled back through the living room as she was pulling on her pants. It stopped and glared at her, letting out an angry stream of _blips_ and _bleeps_. Still topless, Jane put her hands on her hips and glared right back. “What’s your problem? You want me to stay naked? Fine, I’ll stay naked!” She stared to strip her pants back off out of spite.

That got another burst of radio static as the robot waved its arms to indicate it did _not_ want that. “Cool,” Jane said coldly, pulling her pants back up. “Then leave me alone.”

It stayed there.

Protective, that’s what Rusty had said. Weird. “What, you think I’m going to try to steal him away from you?” She jerked her head in the direction of the patio, indicating Rusty. “Last thing on earth I want, trust me. I don’t want money and I don’t do relationships. The only thing I’m going to do is eat his shrimp cocktail and then probably spend ten minutes reverse-cowgirl on him before going home to sleep in my own bed. Chill. Out.”

A set of hands closed around her waist from behind. “Is that so?” His beard tickled her shoulder.

Rather than try to break free, she went with it and leaned back into him. “About time you got inside. You slip or something?” No, she could tell from the feel of fabric against her back that he’d gotten dressed before coming in. Seemed like an odd choice to her, but okay.

“Why, did you miss me?” His hands had moved up from her waist to her chest. Oh well, she guessed she didn’t need the shrimp that badly. They could skip straight to the bedroom part.

She craned her neck around, pressing her lips against his and then parting them. “Not really.”

He chuckled, probably assuming it was a joke. “So, is it true?”

“Is what true?” She turned around in his arms. “That I’m going to go home and sleep in my own bed tonight after I wear you out?”

“The…” He cleared his throat. “The part before that.”

“Ohhhhh.” She smiled slowly up at him, like the Cheshire Cat. “ _That_ part. Well, it doesn’t _have_ to be reverse cowgirl. I was just spit balling.”

“No, no, lady’s choice.” His lids had gotten heavy, his voice smoother.

“Very considerate of you.” She pressed in close, placing her arms around his shoulders. “But as long as you give me at least six orgasms, I don’t really care _how_ you do it.”

“Six?” he squeaked, jerking back.

Her suppressed laughter made her whole upper body shake. She pressed her forehead against his shoulder, trying to hide it. Teasing him was too much fun—and it was so easy! “I mean, sure, if you want to go for eight or nine, be my guest.”

He’d already realized what she was doing, of course. “Oh, ha ha.” He sounded put out, but his posture had already relaxed.

“I don’t know.” Jane brushed her lips over his, still amused at her own joke. “I bet you could do it.” She kissed him for real, pulling him out of his indignation and back into the _let’s fuck_ mindset. “But really, I’m going to be happy as long as you don’t put any more musicals on.” She pushed her hips up against him. “I had that shit about the surrey stuck in my head for a _week_.”

Oh no. She shouldn’t have even _mentioned_ that song. Just the word _surrey_ was enough to bring it back. “Oh shit, it’s _back_.” She grabbed his collar and pulled him into a fierce kiss, trying to drive out the tune playing in her head. “Make it go away. _Please_ make it go away.”

He laughed at _that_ , damn it. “Don’t worry, dear,” he assured her, hands all over her ass. “I’ve got stacks of records up in my room. Progressive rock only.”

“Yes. Yes. Get me up there _now_.” If he’d been a bigger man, she would have jumped up on him, wrapping her legs around his waist and forcing him to carry her up there. But that would have taken time. She pulled free of him, oriented herself in the room, and raced for the steps. Rusty stood there for a minute, fixated on watching her run. Horny idiot. She smiled. “Get the lead out, or I’m going through your records myself!” Yep, that got him moving. “And you know your creepy murder-bot was watching us this whole time, right?”

She heard a hasty _bleep_ and the sound of wheels, and then the sound of footsteps hurrying up the stairs behind her.


	4. Chapter 4

“Hi, Dad. Happy birthday!” Dean looked tired—probably studying too hard, there wasn’t much chance of that overdoing it on partying. He also, quite clearly, had a secret. He’d always been _terrible_ at keeping secrets, and the way he was smiling too hard and bouncing on his heels was a dead giveaway.

Rusty folded his arms over his chest and leaned back into the sofa, waiting for whatever it was to spill out. Rather than sit down, Dean continued to twitch excitedly. “Are you having a good day?”

It had been pretty unremarkable, in fact. Once you hit your forties, birthdays were better off ignored. Inviting Dean over for dinner had been his sole concession to the fact that he was another year older. “It’s been fine.” He’d had another go at writing his memoirs, which had put him in a bad mood, so he’d popped down to the lab to see if anything useful was getting done. As usual, White and Billy appeared to be doing nothing more than messing around wasting his money. And Jane, who he’d actually been hoping _wouldn’t_ be busy, was so focused on her latest project she barely acknowledged him. “How’s school?”

“Oh, it’s good.” Dean maintained his fixed smile, glancing distractedly toward the elevator several times.

“Okay, what is it?” He wanted to indulge the boy, but this was painful.

“What is what?” Poorly feigned confusion.

Rusty raised his eyebrows and waited.

“Okay, well, um…I brought something for you.”

Hopefully it’d be better than the cake the boys had attempted to make him last year. He couldn’t help but notice that Dean’s hands were empty, though. Did he have a gift card—bought with family money, no doubt—stuffed in his back pocket?

Dean glanced toward the elevator doors again. They opened.

“Hey, Pop!”

“Hank!” Rusty was off the sofa and across the living room before he even knew he’d gotten up. Yes, it really was Hank. He needed a shave and a haircut, but he was clean and safe. And home. On an impulse guided by intense relief, Rusty pulled him into a tight hug.

It lasted about three seconds. Then Rusty remembered that displays of affection weren’t something he was very good at, and hurriedly let go. Instead, he stood back and surveyed his second son austerely. “About _time_ you showed up. Do you know how worried H.E.L.P.eR. has been? Don’t even get me started on Hatred.” He raised his voice. “Brock! The boys are here!”

“What, both of ‘em?” Brock appeared surprisingly quickly from the second story, leaning over the railing to look. His face broke into a huge smile, and he ran down the stairs, dropping the giant knife he’d been holding, bounding down the last few like a kid, and nearly bowling over Rusty in his rush to pull both boys into a big embrace. “Hank, you can’t just run off like that! How am I supposed to protect you if I can’t _find_ you?”

Hank popped his collar and strutted into the center of the room, enjoying the attention. “I protected myself just fine, thank you very much.”

Rusty seriously doubted that, but at least he was alive. That in itself was an achievement, he supposed. “Where have you been?” he demanded, crossing his arms so that he didn’t spontaneously hug him again.

“Everywhere…and nowhere.” Hank spread his hands dramatically.

“Oh no. You don’t just get to disappear for three months—from the _hospital,_ no less!—and turn up acting all mysterious. I demand to know where you’ve been!”

“Around.” Hank shrugged airily. Infuriating!

“He won’t tell me, either.” Dean offered. “He just turned up at my dorm on Wednesday.”

Rusty would have dearly loved to tell his errant son than his was in big trouble, but those days had passed. Like it or not, they were more than halfway to being men now. He could hardly ground them when they only came home to do their laundry.

And to tell the truth, as angry as he had been at Hank for disappearing, his feelings of relief and happiness outpaced it by a mile. So he turned to Dean, instead. “Since _Wednesday_? And you didn’t call immediately to let us know?”

The twins exchanged quick looks, but that was enough to tell Rusty than they weren’t going give him any decent answers at the moment. “We had a long talk. And then I had to go to class.”

“Oh, you had a long talk, but he never told you where he’s been all this time?”

“Easy, Doc.” Brock’s enormous hand settled on his shoulder. “Hank, man, you gotta know you owe us _some_ kind of explanation.”

“I was finding myself,” Hank declared stubbornly.

“Oh yeah?” Rusty raised an eyebrow coolly. “So I suppose you found an entitled little boy who likes to take stupid risks and scare the shit out of his family?”

“No.” Hank’s chin jutted out defiantly. Oh no, he knew _that_ look, too. “I’m a man now!”

Brock shook his head. “The mark of being a real man is not needing to tell everyone you’re a man,” he pointed out. There was no mistaking the rough affection in his voice, though.

“At least tell me this,” Rusty said, giving up for the time being. “Are you staying?”

Hank brightened immediately. “Heck yeah! You better not have messed with my room.”

“I already told you we didn’t,” Dean sighed.

The elevator opened. Sergeant Hatred, Vatred, whatever he called himself now, came through with several bulging bags smelling of MSG and chicken. He took one look at the family gathering in the living room and dropped the bags with a shout. “Hank!” He barreled across the room, pulling Hank into an embrace that was in all likelihood rather unwelcome. Hank squirmed free quickly.

Meanwhile, sweet and sour sauce was leaking onto the hall floor. “Damn it, Hatred!” With a heavy sigh, Rusty headed over to rescue their food. This really shouldn’t be _his_ job, he thought irritably. _He_ owned the company. It was _his_ birthday. Trust Hank to stroll in and steal the limelight.

Luckily, aside from the spilled sauce and a few toppled containers, dinner was still intact. “Wait a minute,” he said, thinking aloud as he carried them through to the kitchen. “Hatred, didn’t you see Hank coming through the lobby with Dean?”

The old soldier had the grace to look embarrassed. “I, uh…no.”

Rusty clucked his tongue in disappointment. “No wonder The Monarch made it all the way to the penthouse last time! You must be sleeping on the job!”

“I am not! There’s a big difference between a gang of weirdos dressed like butterflies breaking in, and Hank slipping by while Dean distracts me!”

“It’s not his fault, Pop. I’m a stealth master!”

“Fine, fine, whatever.” He sighed once more before generously letting the issue drop. “Somebody tell H.E.L.P.eR. before _he_ drops anything in my living room in his rush to hug the prodigal here.” He headed back into the kitchen with the second bag of Chinese. “And then wash your hands and get in here. Dinner’s ready.”

* * *

Hank’s plans after “finding himself” seemed to center on spending the next six months hanging around the penthouse and doing more deep soul searching. He was thinking, he said, about enrolling in college in the fall, maybe a business degree. Then he and Dean could be roommates. But he wasn’t sure yet. He had, he assured his family, many opportunities. Since spring semester was a few weeks from ending anyhow, he’d just spend the whole summer considering them. Any attempts to point out that he’d need to apply for admissions very soon were met with confidence and scorn. Basically, typical Hank.

Despite that, and despite his refusal to tell them where he’d been, and despite the fact that he’d eaten almost all the orange chicken, Hank’s return had still made this one of the best birthdays in recent memory. It was funny how much of a difference it made, just knowing he was in the house. Knowing he was _safe_. Hank made the place feel more alive.

He spent most of the next day around the penthouse, dealing with bills and listening to Hank make horrible sounds on his guitar or talk with Brock. He didn’t _acknowledge_ him often, but he listened while pretending not to. The relief, it seemed, went deep.

By late afternoon Rusty got bored of just hanging around, and announced to anyone who cared to listen that he was going to down to look in on things in the lab.

“Ah jeez Doc, again?”

Rusty drew himself up to his full height of 5’9” and squared his shoulders. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“You’re gonna get your heart broken,” Brock warned.

“I’m a super scientist, Brock,” Rusty reminded him loftily. “I need to visit my lab from time to time. It’s _expected_ of me. Quality control check and all that.”

Hank was looking back and forth between them with interest. “What’re you talking about?”

“None of your business,” Rusty answered calmly, heading down the hall to the elevator. That was more than a fair response, after Hank’s refusal to tell them what he’d spent the past three months doing. Though in this case, Brock was just going to tell him what it was about. He was probably already telling him. Damn it.

He forgot about all of it during the quick trip down, though. Jane had been so wrapped up in her work since their last date. He should remind her that he still owed her a dinner from the last one. Maybe offer her another massage, it seemed like she’d liked that… Strange woman, in some ways. She was either all over him, or practically ignoring him. Ah, but she probably just liked to play it cool in front of Billy and White, that was it. She kept returning to the point that she wanted this job on her merits as a scientist, not because she was dating the boss. That must be it.

White and Billy seemed to be playing a video game. Rusty leaned against the door frame, arms crossed, watching them for several minutes before they noticed him. White appeared to be winning. It didn’t look like something he should be paying them for. But it also looked fairly amusing. Maybe after he talked to Jane, he’d…

Where was she? He glanced around the expansive laboratory, thinking he must have missed her. Usually the dark hair made her easy to spot, even if the white lab coat didn’t. The chemistry area looked exactly the same as it had yesterday. He took a few more steps so he could see behind the giant wall of technology White had built himself.

“She’s not here,” White said without taking his eyes off the screen.

“What?”

“You’re looking for Jane, right?” Billy lisped, pausing the game and turning. “She hasn’t been here all day. We figured she called in or something.”

“No,” Rusty said blankly, staring around the lab again as if she might appear out of thin air. He wouldn’t put it past her, honestly.

“Think you oughtta call?” White asked, showing faint signs of concern. “See what’s up?”

He didn’t have her number. He didn’t know where she lived. Their entire relationship, he realized now, was dependent on her turning up to work. It was _possible_ she’d just taken an impromptu day off, but who was he kidding, this was a woman who barely stopped working long enough to eat, who’d begged him for a job simply so she could come play in a real lab. If she hadn’t come in, it meant something was wrong. Was she sick? Should he bring her some Gatorade or chicken soup? He’d need her address for that. Where would he find her address? No, he should call first. Where would he find her phone number, then? The resumé. What had he done with that resumé?

“Yes,” he agreed distractedly, already on his way back into the elevator. “Yes, I think I will…”

He hurried to the living room as soon as he got back upstairs, headed for the coffee table. He had a bad habit of leaving things lying there. Sure enough, a stack of papers sat on the corner. He picked them up eagerly, sifting through. Requisition forms, a napkin with some ideas scratched out on it, an old grocery list, company financials, an irate bill from Enzo, a credit card statement…this was all bills, damn it! Useless!

H.E.L.P.eR. cleaned things up in the evenings. He’d probably moved them somewhere. After all, it _had_ been weeks ago now. If he were a doddering old robot, where would he put disorganized stacks of paper? You never really knew, that was the trouble. He _could_ have filed them all carefully away in some briefcase or desk. He could also have swallowed them or thrown them in a fire.

“H.E.L.P.eR?” he called, straightening up and looking toward the upstairs. _How_ the robot got up the steps without legs was anyone’s guess, yet he turned up there nearly every day—usually dusting or vacuuming. Sure enough, he came zooming out of Dean’s empty bedroom at the end of the hall, asking how he could help.

“Where do you put the papers that I leave on the coffee table?”

H.E.L.P.eR. told him to hold on, vanishing into Rusty’s own bedroom. He followed him up, arriving at the top of the steps just in time for the robot to drop a heavy cardboard box into his arms. Its unexpected weight nearly sent him over backward, and in his desire to not fall down the stairs he dropped it, spilling the contents all over the floor.

Great. Just perfect. With a grunt of annoyance, he sat down on the floor and began to sift through them. Mostly old bills and requests and OSHA paperwork he’d been ignoring, but it added up to quite a tidy pile. Finding a one-sheet resumé in here was going to be a pain—both literally as well as figuratively, since he was sure he’d be feeling it in his back later.

But all the same, he settled in and began sifting through diligently. When Hank came out of his room half an hour later, he stopped and stared. “What’s all that?”

“Paperwork. Apparently H.E.L.P.eR’s been saving it for us.” He didn’t bother to hide his irritation. Most of this could have gone straight in the trash. Wasn’t there some way to program that damn robot to recognize what was _important_?

“Cool,” Hank said, and kept watching as if this were the most fascinating thing he’d seen all day. After a while he followed up his question with another one. “Why’d you dump ‘em in a big pile at the top of the steps?”

Honestly! Sometimes he couldn’t tell whether that boy was really as dense as he seemed, or just excellent at playing dumb. Sometimes he worried about him. Fine, all the time. But right now, Hank was an annoyance. He decided not to answer, continuing instead to sort the giant pile of papers into a giant _trash_ stack and a much smaller _keep_ stack.

“Looking for something special?” Hank asked when he eventually realized he wasn’t going to get a response to that last question.

“Yes,” he admitted tersely. “A resumé.”

“Huh.” Hank went down on his haunches on the opposite side of the pile. “Whose resumé?”

Well, there was no point in lying. “Jane’s. I suppose Brock told you all about her while I was out of the room?”

“Yep!” No trace of shame from the kid at all, that they’d been talking behind his father’s back. “When do I get to meet her?”

The fact that whatever Brock had had to say about Jane had done nothing to deter Hank’s interest was…kind of nice, as a matter of fact. Especially considering the way he hero-worshipped Brock. “You want to meet her?”

“Well sure! I have to interrogate the dame. I’ll get my hat. Detective Hank is on the case, Pop!”

 _Interrogate the dame?_ Why was he talking like that? What was he even talking _about_? Oh well, it was Hank. “You might want to hold off on getting your hat,” he said simply. “She wasn’t at work today, and I seem to have lost her phone number.”

Hank looked genuinely excited about that announcement. “So it _is_ a mystery!”

Rusty made an effort not to roll his eyes, but it was a losing battle. “A mystery that we’re only going to solve by digging through this mess.” He gestured to the floor. “You want to help, though, be my guest.”

Hank sat down opposite him and started sorting, providing a running commentary on every piece of paper that passed through his hands. “Final notice…boy, do we really pay that much for power? Why don’t you just invent some kind of magic generator so we don’t have to pay the city? Aw, Sally sent you a Christmas card from Spider Skull Island? That’s super nice of her. This is some of Dean’s school stuff, wonder why he left it here…where’s Random House? Dear Dr. Venture, thank you for your submission. However—”

“Give me that!” Rusty snatched it out of his hand, burying it quickly in the trash pile.

Hank continued his narration. “Wait, you really do have life insurance? I thought that was just something you made up. What happens if you don’t pay ‘em? Do they come end your life?”

Rusty glanced up quickly into Hank’s earnest face, trying to figure out whether he was serious. He looked pleased with himself rather than worried, so it was probably a joke. Rusty went back to sifting through papers and attempting to ignore the ache starting in his lower back. He hoped Jane was really grateful when she saw he was thoughtful enough to check up on her.

“Is this my hospital bill? Oh, no, it’s for someone named Thadde—oh this is for you, Pop! When were _you_ at the hospital?”

“A few months back, when The Monarch came by with that armed drone, remem…” No, he wouldn’t remember. That had been before Valentine’s Day. He hadn’t been here. “It was just a quick in and out,” he finished instead. “Billy could have taken care of it easily if he hadn’t been on vacation.” Recalling that particular day did nothing to improve his mood. He’d been so _annoyed_ at having to go to a city hospital, bleeding all over their waiting room floor and leaning on Brock to stay standing. Billy had no business going on a cruise with his mother when he was needed here!

“Did you kill any of them, Brock?” Hank asked.

“Brock?” Rusty turned and sure enough, the bodyguard was standing a few steps from the top of the staircase, leaning nonchalantly against the railing.

“I don’t think so,” Brock answered Hank. “I beat the crap outta a few of them, but nothing fatal.” He paused, considering. “I don’t think.” He jumped over the railing, landing gracefully and sitting down beside Hank. “Don’t you have anything more fun to do?”

Hank beamed at him. “I’m helping Pop find Jane’s phone number.”

Brock turned his attention to Rusty. “You don’t _have_ it? In your phone?” At Rusty’s chagrined expression, he ran a face over his hand and groaned. “I’m not even _touching_ that. So what makes you think it’s in here?”

“I left her resumé on the coffee table and H.E.L.P.eR cleaned it up,” Rusty snapped, not liking what he was implying.

“You mean the resumé you gave me when you asked me to do that background check on her?”

There was a very heavy pause before Rusty said briskly, “Yes, that one. What did you do with it?”

“Scanned it and sent it over to Hunter. Probably pitched in the trash after that. Hold on, I’ll go check.”

In an effort not to feel stupid over forgetting about giving it to Brock, Rusty continued sorting the papers into piles. Now that he knew what he was looking for wasn’t in there, however, it was a thoroughly depressing exercise in futility. He was relieved when Brock came back down the hall with a piece of paper in his hand. “Found it!”

“Thank God!” Rusty jumped up, seizing the slightly wrinkled sheet of paper and heading straight to his room. His phone was in there, and he wanted a door he could shut before making the call. Hank would undoubtedly eavesdrop anyway, but at least there’d be some semblance of privacy.

He dialed the number. It rang. And rang. And rang. Maybe she was asleep. Or didn’t recognize his number, that was probably it. He’d leave a message. _Beep. Sorry, the number you are dialing has not set up their voicemail box._ Damn.

Well then, he’d send her a text. He’d seen her with a cellphone, she must at least have text. He sat down on the edge of his bed and tried to compose something suitable. _Hey, it’s Rusty. I just realized I never got your phone number, haha!_ Backspace. _Hey, it’s your boss._ Backspace. He was more than that and they both knew it. _Hey, it’s me. I noticed you weren’t in today, wanted to make sure everything was alright._ There, that would do. Sent.

Phone in his breast pocket, he left his room and scooped up a large portion of the trash pile, carrying an armful down the steps to throw away. After that he went into the kitchen, opened the fridge, and surveyed its contents. Leftover Chinese, sure. He got out the container and plate, dumped the one onto the other, and stuck it in the microwave, all while waiting for that telltale beep from his phone. It didn’t come. He turned on the tv in the kitchen and sat down at the table, listlessly shoving lo mein around as he waited.

Hank came in, breezily greeted him, grabbed a container of raw cookie dough from the fridge, and walked back out. “That better not be your dinner,” Rusty called after him. He got no response. Hmph. He pulled his phone out, checking to see if he’d missed a beep. Not yet. He watched twenty minutes of Family Feud and ate most of the food on his plate, checking every thirty seconds or so.

“Oh, screw this,” he muttered to himself. Maybe she was one of those people who only used facebook. He went back upstairs to his personal computer, where he logged into his facebook account. Right, search. Jane Inbras. Some hideous specimen in Norway and a grandmother in Ohio. Jane Impossible. Nothing. He sighed and checked his own notifications, which were all from over a week ago and relating to either an outdated news story or a photo that Billy had tagged him in. Reflexively, he clicked on his email next; he always checked it when he was online.

There was a new message in there with the subject line _I have something of yours_. The sender name actually said _The Monarch_ because of course it did, he doubted the man ever took his costume off! He clicked it, because he was curious and what harm could an email do?

Viruses, he remembered a split second after clicking the mouse. It was probably _dripping_ with viruses. Had White left for the day yet? He better get his butt back here before the damn thing forwarded all his confidential data to the NYT or something. He was just picking up his phone to call him when he saw the picture.

There were no words in the message itself, and probably no viruses after all. The picture was enough, hitting him in the gut, getting at in a way he hadn’t even known he was vulnerable.

Jane.

He’d never seen her asleep. She looked so young and peaceful, almost angelic if you ignored the thin line of saliva puddling beneath her cheek. She was lying on a hard floor, zip ties binding her wrists and ankles. _I have something of yours._ He certainly did.

“Brock!” He stood up too fast, banging his knee on the corner of his desk and cursing under his breath. “Brock!” Where was that blonde hulk? “Brock!” If there was a threat in his room with him, he’d be dead already, damn it all!

The door burst open hard enough to knock it off one of its hinges. Brock was suddenly in the center of the room, cigarette between his lips, knife in hand, ready for anything.

Well, almost anything. After a moment of dangerous tension, he relaxed and looked around in disappoint. “There’s nobody here, is there,” he observed.

Hank poked his head around what remained of his bedroom door. “Did I miss something?”

“No,” Brock said flatly, sheathing his knife and rounding on Rusty. “What gives, Doc? I was watching a game!”

“Look at this,” Rusty snapped, gesturing to his computer screen.

“How many times do I have to tell you, I’m not dealing with…” He actually took a look. “Oh.”

“What do you mean, _oh_?” Rusty demanded angrily. “That bastard took Jane! Go rescue her!”

Brock rubbed the back of his neck, unenthused about what he was about to say. “Uh…no.”

“Huh?” Even Hank seemed surprised.

 _No_ was even worse than _oh_. “Excuse me? Isn’t protecting us from that idiot your _job_? It’s not as though you couldn’t handle it. Just go in there, kill a few henchmen, and bring her back.”

Brock shook his head. “I’m assigned to protect _you_ , not Little Miss Impossible.”

“You protected Dean and Hank,” Rusty pointed out.

“Yeah, well.” Brock shrugged. “They’re family. She’s not.”

Hank puffed up in pride at this, but Rusty was perilously close to loosing his temper. “I…I _order_ you to go rescue her!”

Brock sighed and put out his cigarette in an empty bowl on the desk. “Look, Doc. Didn’t it ever occur to you that this is all part of a trap?”

“What _trap_?” He narrowed his eyes. “I know what this is really about. You just can’t accept that a woman like her would be interested in me and not you!”

He’d expected this to get a rise out of Brock, being called out on his blatant jealousy, but all the bodyguard did was shake his head. “Nah. I can’t accept that a hot piece like that turns up out of nowhere, just happens to be a great chemist, is the daughter of someone we know isn’t, uh…your biggest fan, which she lies about, and jumps in your bed in about ten seconds. This is a trap, Doc. Don’t buy into it.”

That was one of the longer speeches he could remember Brock ever giving, but it still didn’t ring true to Rusty. “How? Why? The Monarch’s got no connections to Impossible. I don’t even think they like each other!”

“Yeah, well. She was Guild, too, don’t forget.”

“You said yourself her background checked out on that,” Rusty objected. “She’s clean! Anyway, you can’t have it both ways. Is she secretly working for Impossible, or is she secretly working for The Monarch?” Brock was really reaching here. It was sad, how much jealousy was clouding his judgement.

“Could be both,” Brock answered stubbornly. “I don’t trust any of ‘em.”

It was a standoff. They stared at each other angrily for a minute in silence—even Hank didn’t have anything clever to say. Then Rusty snapped “Fine!” and sat back down at his desk, where he hit _reply_ on the message. When the window came up, he typed _What do you want?_ and sent it before anyone could object.

“That was stupid,” Brock told him.

“You think he’s gonna ask for a ransom?” Hank asked.

Rusty drummed his fingers on his desk, but that didn’t help alleviate the anxiety. He stood up and paced. They were probably both right. But what else was he supposed to do?

Hank watched him with what actually appeared to be concern. “Are you in love with her?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he responded at once. “Of course not! I’m…fond of her.”

“Fond of getting laid, more like,” Brock commented. “Quit thinking with your dick, Doc.”

Hank wrinkled his nose at the thought of his father having sex. “Gross!”

“Get out, both of you!” Rusty made shooing gestures. “I need to think.”

After some hesitation and complaining, they did. Rusty continued pacing as he attempted to organize his thoughts. It was possible, he supposed, that he wasn’t thinking quite straight. What was the matter with him? The Monarch had abducted the boys more than a handful of times, and after the first few it hardly phased him. There was no reason this should be any different. It wasn’t as though they were going to _kill_ her.

A new message appeared in his inbox. He ran over to the desk. _Re: I have something of yours. The Monarch._ He opened it. This time a line of text greeted him. _Just to see you suffer._

Well that was great, just great. It was tempting to respond with insults, but he knew enough not to give in to that temptation. Insulting Malcom, showing him you were upset, that just threw gasoline on the fire. Showing him that you weren’t remotely bothered by his attempts, that was how to deflate him. He just had to figure a way to get Jane out of there without acknowledge that this had inconvenienced him in any way.

The best answer was to send Brock—but Brock refused to go. The most logical answer after that was to do nothing, wait for The Monarch to get bored of his hostage, and let her go. That was what he _should_ do. But the idea of his girlfriend— _his_ gorgeous girlfriend—lying tied up on that dirty floor indefinitely was extremely upsetting.

He reminded himself that she was Richard Impossible’s daughter and had worked for the Guild for a while to boot, so she had probably been through far worse. If her childhood was anything like _his_ , a few hours in Malcom’s basement would be a walk in the park in comparison. It was even possible—probable!—that she’d escape on her own. He wouldn’t put it past her.

That thought helped him stay calm for a while. He did some reading and went to bed. But he didn’t fall asleep. It was going to drive him crazy. It was stupid, alright, fine, _it was stupid_ , yet he couldn’t let it go. The gas he’d gotten from that leftover lo mein wasn’t helping.

After an hour or so of that he got back up to take some pills and stare out the window at the city lights. If only Brock would go rescue her! It’d be so _easy_ for _him_ , whereas if Rusty attempted it himself he’d probably wind up…

Wind up tied up right beside her.

And then Brock would _have_ to come to the rescue. Because, as he’d said before, keeping Dr. Thaddeus Venture safe was his job.

He went and knocked on Brock’s bedroom door. “Yeah?” answered him almost immediately. Good. He was still up. That wasn’t exactly an invitation to enter, but he turned the knob and stuck his head into the room anyway.

“I was just wondering…. If we had any equipment for breaking and entering, where would it be stored?”

Brock groaned and put a hand over his face. “I’m not telling you.”

“Just _asking_ ,” Rusty insisted with forced innocence. He shut the door again and took the elevator down to raid the lab. Let’s see, what would come in handy? He picked up one of the little bombs from Jane’s station. He’d seen her working on it and knew it would work, but he was a little leery about slipping it into his pocket. Primarily because he wasn’t positive he wouldn’t accidentally activate it, but also because he knew Jane would be livid if he took any protype away from her station without asking—even if the whole building was his, and even if he was only doing it to rescue her. Instead, he took some hydrofluoric acid, night vision shades, a few tools, and a tracking chip. On the way back upstairs, he stopped off in the lobby to borrow the shrink ray from its display case.

All of it fit neatly into a fanny pack he found in his closet while searching for a black turtleneck to go with his black slacks. He put on the shades, strapped on the fanny pack, and kept out the shrink ray because it looked cool. Then he took some more gas pills, because the first batch hadn’t done the job. And then he waited.

Sure enough, after a while he heard Brock’s door open, and his footsteps cross the hall to the main bathroom. As soon as the door was shut, Rusty loudly left his room, shutting the door hard and then swearing before heading down the stairs as noisily as possible. He went back up and looked in on Hank for good measure. The boy was actually asleep, but blinked sleepily when the light from the hallway hit his face.

“I already did it,” he mumbled before blinking and fanning a yawn. “Pop? That you?”

“Yes,” Rusty assured him. “I…you were shouting in your sleep. I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

“Really?” Hank sat up and rubbed his eyes. “I don’t remember that.”

“Oh, it was awful. Brock’ll tell you.”

“Why isn’t he in here too, then?” His brow furrowed.

Damn, he’d boxed himself into a corner here. “Er…I told him I’d handle it. Anyway, you seem alright. Go back to sleep.”

“Why’re you dressed like a cat burglar?”

Right on cue, Brock left the bathroom and came down the hall toward them. “What’s going on?”

“Just looking in on Hank,” Rusty said brightly. “Good night, Hank!”

“Hold up there.” One of Brock’s huge hands was suddenly pressing against his check. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Brock, was I really yelling in my sleep?”

“Just thought I’d go for a walk.”

“No.”

“Which of us are you talking to?”

“Both of you. Hank, you’re fine, go back to sleep. Doc—don’t even think about it. Seriously. Just don’t.”

“No idea what you’re talking about.” He left the room. “I couldn’t sleep and I thought some fresh air would help.”

Again, Brock ran a hand over his face. “You know you’re gonna get yourself killed, right?”

“I won’t if you come rescue me.” Rusty grinned and waggled his eyebrows, feeling rather pleased with himself.

“Oh, for Pete’s sake!” Brock stalked out of the room. “I’ll be right back.”

Hank cocked his head to the side. “Did everyone go crazy while I was gone?”

“No, Hank,” Rusty sighed, sitting down at the end of his bed. “We’ve always been this way.” Secretly, however, he was pleased with himself. Brock wasn’t happy, but he’d clearly gone back to get dressed, so the stunt must be working.

He strode back into the room, grabbing Rusty by the arm. “Hank, stay put. Doc, come with me.”

Rusty smirked all the way down the hall and through the door of his own bedroom. Brock shoved him backward onto his bed and pulled his arm up to the headboard quickly—but even so, Rusty realized what he was doing in the nick of time and almost managed to pull free before the handcuffs clicked into place. Brock stepped back, looking satisfied.

“You can’t do this to me!”

“I just did.”

“Obviously, yes, but you’re supposed to be my bodyguard!”

“Exactly.” Brock turned and headed to the door, fanning a yawn. “And right now I’m protecting you from yourself. Door open, or closed?”

“What if I have to use the bathroom in the middle of the night?”

“Then I guess you better hold it. Get some sleep, Doc. Or at least let _me_ get some.”

He closed the bedroom door.

* * *

When she woke up it was with a throbbing headache, in what looked like a cave. It felt like a cave, too. She shivered and tucked her arms in closer to herself. She was lying on the floor; that combined with the cold damp air couldn’t be helping the cause. She wasn’t really all that surprised to find her wrists bound together. This wasn’t her first rodeo, though admittedly it had been a decade or two since she’d last gotten kidnapped. Her wrists were zip-tied together in _front_ of her, and the tie holding her ankles together seemed to be the only other form of bondage. Her jeans and tank top were still on. As far as abductions go, this ranked pretty low on the fear index. She was more annoyed than anything, because she didn’t know how long she’d been unconscious but she’d almost certainly missed her shift at the club. That was a few hundred bucks she wouldn’t be earning tonight.

She propped herself up on one elbow and looked around. “Hello?” she called, not bothering to hide the irritation in her voice. “I don’t suppose you abducted me just to leave me alone in a cave. You know whatever you shot me with leaves a hell of a headache, right? I could use a drink! And maybe a blanket, if you’re planning on keeping me here much longer?”

Nothing happened. She waited a minute before snapping “Fuck you, then,” into the empty cave and resting her head back on the cold ground. It didn’t do anything to raise her body temperature, but it helped the headache a little bit. She cursed herself for spending too much time in the lab and at the club, and not enough time training. Ten years ago, she would have been able to escape a situation like this without issue. She still could have, if they’d tried to take her while she was awake, or if she’d woken up with a weapon on her. Fucking cowards. Fuckers. Oh well, she could improvise.

Jane pushed herself back up into an awkward sitting position and surveyed the place. She could hear and smell water. Not many lights were on, but there were telltale glows from some computer panels and the edges of what might have been a stairway. She scooted backward until she was close enough to one of the instrument banks to see a bit more. Nothing she could use as a weapon, damn it. She leaned into the nearest wall and pushed herself up to standing, then shuffled over to the chair by the panels and sat down. There was a flashing light near the screen in front of her, so she extended her bound hands and pushed around it until something depressed. The screen lit up.

“You’re awake!” said a voice from somewhere above her.

_Password,_ the screen said. For fuck’s sake. “I’m turning _thirty_ this year,” she snarled, rotating the chair around to look for the source of the voice. “My dad hasn’t called me in over a year, I don’t even think he knows where I live, so I highly doubt he’s going to pay whatever it is you want. Just cut your losses and let me go before I develop something that makes you vomit up the contents of your colon.”

“No kidding,” said the voice. It was male, moving closer, and surprisingly friendly. “I’m turning thirty this year, too. Who’s your dad?”

She narrowed her eyes—and then narrowed them further, because the lights came on. They weren’t painfully bright, thankfully, more of an atmospheric glow, but it still added a couple more red-hot needles of pain to her headache. “Ugh,” she muttered, and pressed her forehead into the cool console.

“Oh, sorry,” her captor said at once. It sounded like he was right behind her now. Her head hurt, but not enough to make her miss an opportunity. Abruptly, she shoved hard against the computer panel, pushing herself and the rolling chair backward. The chair spun slightly as she did it, but her knees connected with something solid. Her captor grunted and stumbled, and she heard something hit the ground.

“Damn it,” he said, crouching down as her momentum wore off. “What’d you do that for? You made me drop the aspirin.”

Jane put her feet flat on the ground and turned the chair around to get a look at him. A big guy in what looked like his pajamas and a bathrobe. Young, muscular, unshaven. “Aspirin?” she asked.

“Yeah.” He glanced up at her before resuming his search of the floor. There was a plastic water bottle lying next to him, that must have been what she’d heard drop. “You said you had a headache.”

This was suspiciously kind behavior for someone who had abducted her. “You could have told me you’d _heard_ me,” she said petulantly.

“I didn’t,” he answered, still searching. The fact that she might not want a pill that had been lying on the floor of a cave clearly hadn’t even occurred to him. “I mean, I did. But I wasn’t in here. You slept _way_ longer than we expected you to, so everyone went to bed. I programmed the system to wake me if there was any movement down here, and then I watched the footage.”

Well, that explained the pajamas. And why it had taken him so long to get down here.

“Just give me the water,” Jane sighed, holding out her hands for the bottle. “Never mind the aspirin.”

“You sure?” He looked for another second or two before shrugging and straightening back up.

“Yeah.” She watched him unscrew the cap of the bottle. “What do you mean, I slept longer than you were expecting? How long was I out?”

He pressed the bottle carefully between her bound hands. She immediately took a long sip. “About twenty-eight hours.” She almost did a spit-take. She tried to swallow instead, and wound up coughing and spluttering. Stellar.

Her captor, whoever he was, thumped her on the back. “You okay?”

She continued coughing sporadically but nodded and wiped her mouth off on her upper arm. “Don’t tranqs normally wear off in five to six?”

“Yeah,” he agreed, leaning comfortably against the console surface and watching her. “I was getting a little worried, honestly. When was the last time you really slept?”

She glared at him and took another sip of water before answering. “You tell me. You’ve been spying on me, right?” They’d tranqued her within five minutes of her entering her crappy, unsecured apartment. No way they hadn’t been watching her. _Why,_ was the bigger question.

He looked faintly embarrassed. “That wasn’t me.”

“Oh, one of your henchman? Loads better.” She took another sip. “Who _are_ you, anyway?” Maybe it was just because he was in a bathrobe, but she couldn’t place him in her mental catalogue of registered villains.

“Twe…” he started to answer, then shook his head. “I’m Gary.”

It was kind of sweet, getting a real name. But also incredibly unhelpful. “Great,” she said. “I’m Jane. Now are you going to let me go, Gary? I’m serious, my dad doesn’t give a fuck. You seem like a nice enough guy, so just let me go and I’ll forget this ever happened.”

His actually _grinned_ at her. “So you’re not going to make me vomit up my colon, then?”

She scowled. “Don’t laugh. I could totally do it.”

His smile dwindled but didn’t vanish. He was, she decided, kind of cute. “So you’re actually doing _science_ with Dr. Venture all day?”

Jane’s jaw dropped a little bit. This wasn’t about Richard at all. This was about _Rusty_. She couldn’t believe she’d been so stupid! Of _course_ there were villains monitoring him, looking for a chance to strike. He and his bodyguard had even made jokes about it. She’d just thought, somehow, that if she didn’t pay any attention to the Guild, it wouldn’t pay any attention to _her_. She’d dropped the family name and was out of the game, right? Just a regular scientist now.

Apparently not if she was working at VenTech.

She took a deep, steadying breath and snapped her mouth shut. “Yes,” she told Gary firmly, “I’m a chemist. I don’t know who you _think_ I am, but—”

“Then you’re _not_ Dr. Venture’s girlfriend?” He raised an eyebrow and folded his arms, like he didn’t believe her.

She growled in frustration. “No, I’m not!” He continued giving her a skeptical expression. “I’m _not_! What, you have video of us in bed together or something? All that proves is that you’re a creep!”

“Hey, I already said it wasn’t _me_ on recon!” he protested, actually sounding distressed.

So, they _did_ have footage of her and Rusty banging? Well, hopefully someone had enjoyed the show. “Oh, sorry, it wasn’t you personally recording our naked bodies writhe around, so that makes it totally okay.” She rolled my eyes. “Let me get this straight. You had your cronies abduct me because you saw me fuck Rusty Venture once or twice, concluded I was his girlfriend, and figured he’d what, pay a ransom? Come to my rescue? Sacrifice himself? I’m a pretty good lay, I admit, but I’m not _that_ good!”

Gary was looking at her thoughtfully now. “That’s exactly what you’d say if you were trying to protect him.” He paused, and his brow pulled down again. “But I actually think you’re telling the truth.” He paused again. “Then what _were_ you doing in VenTech Tower every day?”

What, was he stupid or something? “ _Working_ ,” she told him for what felt like the tenth time. “I. Am. A. Chemist. Jesus Christ, dude, I’m a fucking _chemist!_ I just _work_ there!”

“Okay, okay!” He held his hands up in front of him in surrender. “I get it!”

“So you’ll let me go?” she asked hopefully.

He hemmed and hawed on that one. “It’s, uh…that’s not really up to me. The Monarch already sent Venture a picture while you were out cold, and even if you’re not _dating_ you’re close enough to him that we should probably do _something_ to you.”

“The Monarch?” Jane repeated. She’d have to be dead not to know _that_ name. She stared at Gary again. “You’re not him.” Of course he wasn’t, jeez, he’d just talked about him in the third person. “You’re just a _henchman_?”

Gary puffed up his chest a little and looked down at her. “I’m his number two!”

Great. She’d been wasting her time trying to convince a second-in-command. “So where is _he_ , then?” she sighed, feeling defeated. “Can we get him down here and sort this out so I can go home?”

“He’s, uh…asleep. Middle of the night, remember?”

Right. She sighed again. “Look, I know how this works. Why don’t you just rough me up a little bit, point me in the direction of the exit, and I’ll tell Rusty Venture I narrowly escaped with my life from the big, bad Monarch.”

“Rough you up?” His eyes widened.

“You know, give me some good bruises, maybe a couple little cuts, make it look like I got tortured while I was here?”

“You _want_ me to do that?” He looked puzzled.

She rolled my eyes again. “No, I’d rather just go home, but I get that’s not going to fly. You let me escape unscathed, you get in trouble with your boss. But best case scenario here is that Rusty’s miffed enough to send his bodyguard down here to get me back. I’ve seen his bodyguard, you don’t want that. If you beat me up to ‘send a message’ before you let me go, you can save face.”

Now Gary cocked his head to the side. “Why do you care?”

“Seriously?” It was her turn to lift her eyebrows. “Because I’d rather get out of here sooner, with a few bruises, than spend all night waiting around for the Monarch to decide the best way to use me to try and hurt Rusty. Which will probably hurt _me_ way more than it hurts Rusty. And I’ve henched before, I know how these things go. You seem like a nice enough guy. No reason you should pay for someone else’s screw-up.”

“You’ve _henched_?”

She shrugged, somehow embarrassed about admitting it now. “A little bit. I tried getting into arching a few years back, but it’s hard to break into. Sadly, there’s not a huge market for college drop-outs who like to dabble in explosives and poisons, so. You know.”

Gary looked at her in wonder, leaning up against the console bank. His bathrobe fell open to reveal a solid wall of chest and stomach. He was built like a _tank_. Jane was willing to bet he could pick her up and throw her over his shoulder without breaking a sweat. “Okay, seriously, who _are_ you?”

“I already told you.” She smiled sweetly. “I’m Jane.”

He laughed—one short sound of amusement, but she liked it. “Come on, from one henchman to another.”

“What, you want my life story?”

“Well, we’re not going anywhere,” he pointed out.

She sighed. “Not willing to beat up a girl, huh?”

“I’d rather not beat up a beautiful chemist while she’s tied up and can’t fight back, no,” he admitted with a brief grin. “Especially not when she says she could make me barf out my intestines.”

_Beautiful chemist,_ she liked the sound of that. Maybe she should change her plan of escape to seduction. “I wouldn’t do it to _you_ ,” she assured him, putting a hint of a purr into her voice. “ _You’ve_ been a perfect gentleman.”

He laughed again, uneasily. “You’re not what I expected.”

Neither, frankly, was he.


	5. Chapter 5

It was a surprisingly good night. In the hopes of seducing Gary, Jane tried “accidentally” spilled water all over herself. Instead of making a move, he’d given her his bathrobe to keep her warm. Unable to make the suitably sexy, she’d invited him to share the robe with her. They’d wound up on the floor, curled close together, sharing body heat under it. And they’d talked. And talked. And talked. When she finally did manage to kiss him, it was because she _wanted_ to, not because of any contingent escape plan. She’d just wanted to kiss him.

They were still kissing—more like flipping between second and third base, really—when morning came around.

“What the _hell_ is going on?” said a shrill male voice from the top of the stairs. Gary jerked back from her at once, sitting up guiltily. A figure appeared on the stairs, tall and thin, dressed in black and orange. Well. Great. Fuck.

“Um,” said Gary, looking just like a teenager caught in the act. He cast Jane one frantic glance, which she returned blankly. _Don’t look to me for the answer, man, he’s_ your _boss! What the hell was_ I _supposed to do?_

The Monarch had reached the bottom of the stairs and was now standing close enough that she could see his ridiculously oversized eyebrows. Gary shoved the robe fully onto her and got to his feet. “Um,” he said again. “She’s not actu—”

“Oh my God, this is _brilliant_!” The Monarch exclaimed, clapping his hands together in delight. “21, you tricky bastard! Defiling his woman, I love it!” He threw an arm over Gary’s shoulders. “Bit dark for you, though, isn’t it? Oh well, it’ll drive Venture _nuts_! This is _way_ better than my plan to mail him her fingers one by one!”

Gary glanced over at her. She cocked her eyebrow, silently saying _See?_ She’d _told_ him The Monarch would want to hurt her, hadn’t she! And he hadn’t believed her.

“She’s not—” he tried again.

“No, not bad, is she! I don’t know _how_ an idiot like him got a woman that looks like _that_. Money, I suppose. Hm.” He surveyed Jane. She glared at him. Gary looked uncomfortable. “I only wish you’d told me and Dr. My Wife what you were planning. Think how much more diabolical it would have been if we’d joined in!”

Her lip curled, and this time the silent glance she shot at Gary said plainly _Is this guy for real?_ “Dude, that’s fucked up.”

He seemed mildly surprised that she’d actually spoken. “I’m a bad guy, sweetie, it’s what I _do_. Nothing personal. You understand.”

“I think I’ve got it covered,” Gary came to her rescue.

“Yes, of course. You’re far less attractive than me and my wife! Much better insult this way, if she’s sullied by a lowly henchman.”

Jane opened her mouth to make an indignant comment to the tune of him not being _nearly_ as attractive as he seemed to think he was, but she shut it again quickly. Better not.

Gary seemed to be having some sort of internal debate. Luckily for her, The Monarch seemed to be too delighted with his victory to notice. “You should have told me! I could at least have taken pictures to send him. Ooh, this is going to just _destroy_ him! 21! Boot up the computer!”

Panic danced across Gary’s face at the mention of the footage. Jane wasn’t sure if he didn’t want his boss knowing she’d enjoyed herself, or if he just didn’t want his boss watching him get off on camera. Either way, he formulated a cover quickly. “Nah, the camera’s all grainy and the audio’s out of synch. I’ll get the good camera and you can snap a few better ones to send him.” Then he paused uncertainly. “Um. Where is it?”

“It’s on the mantle in the parlor.” The Monarch had taken a seat at his giant computer as Gary hurried to hit the buttons that apparently fired it up. 

“No it’s not,” Gary objected, shaking his head. “I was going to bring it down with me earlier, and it wasn’t there.”

“What?” The Monarch snapped. “That’s preposterous! I put it there right after we brought her back here and sent the first pictures!”

“Well it’s not there now,” Gary said stubbornly. “Somebody must’ve moved it.”

The Monarch stood back up irately, sweeping his wings behind him as he started for the stairs. “I will _prove_ to you that it’s right there!”

“Okay, prove it to me!” Gary retorted. “You’re not gonna find it! I bet Six borrowed it to photograph some flowers or something!” The second The Monarch was out of hearing range, he turned his attention back to her. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know what else to do! Quick, get your shirt back on.”

She lifted one shoulder and let it fall. “Eh, it’s no big deal. Not the first time someone recorded me naked without permission, sadly.”

He blinked at her. “Well that’s just…that’s awful. So, wait. You’re okay with this?”

“With what? Letting him take a few pervy pictures? I’m not crazy about him watching us make out, but sure, whatever, if it gets me out of here with all my digits. What about you? _You’re_ totally cool with compromising photos?”

“Not really,” he admitted, “but I’ve done worse things for the job.”

That wasn’t hard to believe. “Hm.” She cocked an eyebrow invitingly at him. “Wanna get started before he comes back, then?” Maybe if they were already into it, it wouldn’t be so awkward. She sat up and shoved his robe out of the way.

Since she was still topless underneath it, that gave him a pretty good view. “Might be a good idea,” he conceded. He’d gravitated away from the computer and back to her side as they spoke.

“Should I try to look like I’m not enjoyi—” She snapped her mouth shut on the question as they both heard the Monarch reemerge at the top of the stairs.

“Ha!” he crowed. “I _told_ you it was right there! Honestly, it’s like you didn’t even _look_!”

Undoubtedly because he hadn’t. Jane shot Gary one last conspiratorial grin, grateful he’d bought them that extra time to confer.

“I’m telling you, it wasn’t there earlier,” he said stubbornly. “Someone must have borrowed it and then put it back.”

“Right, because we’ve got so many amateur photographs around here,” The Monarch said sarcastically, but he didn’t really seem upset about any of it. On the contrary, he still seemed creepily pleased about this entire scenario. “Right, so—go over there and make it look good.”

“Make it look good?” Gary demanded. “What does _that_ mean?”

“What do you _mean,_ what does it mean? You’ve watched porn, right? Make it look good!”

“We weren’t having _sex_ ,” he protested, sounding almost scandalized.

“Oh.” The Monarch looked disappointed. “Well, make it look like you are. That’s an order!”

Damn it, she had to say something. She cleared my throat. “Look, if we’re talking about making it look good, I need to know. You want me to try and fight back? Or should I look like I’m in the middle of an earth-shattering orgasm for every shot?” He stared at her, and she shrugged. “What? Give me some direction here.”

The Monarch looked at Gary. “She doesn’t seem very upset about this.” He looked back at Jane. “Shouldn’t you be…protesting, or something?”

She met his gaze evenly. “I don’t know. Is that what you want, Mr. Director?”

He narrowed his eyes. “That _is_ the right girl, isn’t it, 21?”

“Uh-huh!”

She wished her wrists were unbound so she could cross her arms defiantly under her chest, but whatever. “What makes you think Rusty would date a prude?” she asked coolly. That wasn’t even a lie, and she silently congratulated herself for it.

“Cause he’s a jealous douche,” The Monarch exclaimed at once. “He _almost_ slept with my wife once, and he spent _weeks_ trying to convince—why am I even telling you this?” He shook his head before stepping uncomfortably close and giving her a predatory smile. “Let me summarize—your boyfriend’s a pathetic loser.”

“Yeah, I got you’re not his biggest fan.” She faked a yawn. “Look, can we get this over with? I’ve already missed a whole shift at work. Wait, no.” What time was it? “Two shifts! And you still haven’t answered my question.”

It took him a second to remember what the question had been. Then he stepped back, waving a hand at Gary in irritation. “I don’t know. Just…do whatever you were doing when I came down here.”

“Okay,” Gary muttered warily, sinking down onto the floor beside Jane. While his back was blocking her face from the camera, she flashed him a reassuring smile. He leaned in close above her, starting his fingers at the nape of her neck and moving his hand down in an arc toward her chest. Her heart sped up the second he touched her, and she definitely didn’t have to fake her pleasure when he ran his hands over her breasts and down her waist.

This was all she had to do to get out of here unharmed? A topless make-out session with a guy she’d already willingly spent hours making out with? Man, she was getting off easy.

In more ways than one.

* * *

It was not a good night. He did fall asleep in the end, but it was in an uncomfortable position, and he woke up with a crick in his neck. _Oh yes, Brock, fantastic job of keeping me safe._ He scowled when Hank strolled into the room—without so much as a knock—and handed him the key to the handcuffs.

“So, you two have decided I’m no longer a ‘danger to myself?’” he greeted him in a snide tone. “Or have you been tasked with letting the prisoner out to use the bathroom?”

“I don’t know,” Hank replied, impervious to Rusty’s foul mood. “Brock just said it was safe to let you come down for breakfast.”

Rusty continued to scowl as he unlocked the cuff and rubbed proper circulation back into his wrist. “ _You_ could have come let me out, you know. Or H.E.L.P.eR. You all ignored me all night!”

“Not really. We just got earplugs.”

“There better be coffee,” he muttered angrily before making a beeline for the bathroom. Relieving himself improved his mood slightly, and a cup of gourmet coffee improved it a bit more, but he was still feeling extremely persecuted as carried a danish back up to his room. He sat down at the computer and woke it up, determined to come up with the perfect response to that damn message. He wasn’t sure what it would _be_ yet, but he’d come up with it.

Only, there was already a message in his inbox when he opened his email. Again, from The Monarch. New subject line: _Tell her she’s welcome back any time!_ His spirits lifted as he clicked on it. Did that mean they didn’t have Jane anymore? Had she escaped, or had they let her go? What had she done?

There were multiple attachments this time, but he couldn’t tell what they were from the thumbnails. He clicked on one, and everything inside him went cold and slightly sick. The woman in the photo was still undeniably Jane. She was awake and appeared unharmed. That was all good, but certainly nothing else about the photo was. Jane was more than half naked, and there was _another man_ on her! He couldn’t see enough of his face to recognize him, but the body type was all wrong for Malcom. That could be counted, he supposed, as another good thing. Seeing The Monarch pawing her like would have been just too much to bear.

He didn’t really _want_ to click on the next attachment, but something compelled him to do it. More of the same, only this time they’d gotten a close-up shot of her face. She didn’t look angelic and innocent anymore, nor did she look helpless and miserable. Oh, no. She was very definitely enjoying herself.

He clicked the next photo, unable to stop. This one had enough of her assailant’s face (if you could even call him that, based on the expression on hers) that Rusty was able to recognize him. The henchman, of course. The one who had lived on their lot for half a year, the one who liked to LARP and tried to get him to clone his friend. Gary, that was it. The boys and Hatred had called him Gary. Well, going back to work for The Monarch had clearly worked out well for _him_ , if this was the sort of assignment he was getting! A flash of fury seared through Rusty, and he almost slammed the computer closed.

But he clicked on the last attachment, instead. It was a video. Thankfully, the sound wasn’t working. Even so, he could _see_ her moaning. He could see the way her body moved, and the look on her face. She was _kissing_ him. With enthusiasm.

She was supposed to be _his_ girlfriend.

He did shut the computer at that point, but not violently. On the contrary, he shut it very carefully before turning away, taking off his glasses and pressing the balls of his hands against his eyes. And he’d been going to _rescue_ her. He’d been up half the night with worry, because he’d thought she needed help, and there she was, enjoying herself, acting like a whore for, for, for _Gary_!

Rusty took a deep, calming breath. So what. It wasn’t as though she’d actually _meant_ anything to him, anyway. In fact, what had she given him, really? He’d done all the work. He’d gone out of his way to make her happy, in fact! Given her a job when he didn’t have to, buying her dinner, playing her music…and what did he get in return? Some promising explosive devices and formulas, alright, but a cold shoulder while she worked on them. The sex hadn’t been _that_ good. Alright, fine, yes it had. But it wasn’t as though he’d gotten giddy every time he made her smile, not as though he woke up thinking about her, not as though he actually…

He leaned forward in the chair, pressing his hands harder against his eyes, letting his shoulders slump.

Damn it.

* * *

Jane was still on Cloud Nine when she got off the train two blocks from VenTech, freshly showered and smiling. She had _Sounds of Science_ stuck in her head, she and drummed the beat softly on her thighs as she walked the remaining distance. She felt _good_ , damn it! More than good. She felt amazing.

You wouldn’t know, to look at her, that she’d spent the night tied up in the basement of some creepy Jersey mansion. The marks on her wrists and ankles had already faded, and the hot shower she’d taken when she got home had relaxed her muscles. As for emotional trauma, well… She’d had her share of emotional trauma in her life, and this was _not_ emotional trauma. This had been the best kidnapping experience of her life, actually. Five stars. She grinned to herself.

She’d gotten a good night’s sleep—way more sleep than that, actually. Maybe there was something to be said for getting tranqued, it forced you to catch up on your rest. She’d had a protein shake when she got home, so her stomach was full. She was walking through perfect spring weather. And she’d met the nicest guy last night.

Just thinking about him made her feel giddy. They’d spent more time talking than making out, though there had been plenty of both. Just the two of them in that hidden lair for hours, since she’d woken up after The Monarch went to bed. He’d been so interesting, and so sweet, and the way he’d touched her…she shivered again just thinking about it. Gary. She grinned again. A real boy scout. A gentleman. A hero. And she was going to see him again. She must be crazy! Why did it feel so _good_?

She breezed in the doors of VenTech and headed for the elevator. The security guard, who she knew on sight by now, waved her over as she passed the front desk. Still smiling, she walked over to see what he needed. “Yes?”

“You’re supposed to go upstairs first,” he told her, sounding almost apologetic. “Doc said he needed to talk to you before you hit the lab.”

Oh. Well, that made sense. She _had_ missed a day of work, and The Monarch _had_ broadcast the fact that he’d taken her. It would have been weird if Rusty didn’t at least mention it. She’d expected some bitter, snarky comments today. But to call her up to the penthouse before she even got to work? A feeling of unease settled in the pit of her stomach.

She tried smiling at the guard. “Any idea what it’s about?”

“He didn’t say.”

No, of course he wouldn’t. His ego had probably been wounded, he wasn’t going to go around broadcasting what had happened. He wanted her upstairs so he could vent his outrage that she wasn’t his personal possession after all? Well, tough shit.

She thanked the guard and took the elevator straight down to the lab.

Pete and Billy were already there. She’d suspected they would be, since stopping home for the shower had made her late, but it wasn’t as though anyone here kept the most regular hours. 9-5 was a suggestion at best, at least down here. She smiled at both of them as she headed to the spot that had become her personal workstation. Billy waved back eagerly, and Pete called out a bored “Hey there” without looking away from the robot he was examining. Humming to herself, she headed for the refrigeration unit to check on some cultures she’d been growing.

“Hey, Jane,” called a deep voice. She paused and turned, spotting Brock Samson by the elevators.

She gave him a bright smile and a wave. “What brings _you_ down here?” She started moving toward the fridge again.

“Thought you might need an escort,” he said blandly, which she correctly interpreted to mean he knew she was supposed to be upstairs instead of down here.

Ugh, fine. She’d go deal with the boss’s hurt feelings now, since there didn’t seem to be any way to avoid it. “How thoughtful of you,” she said, matching his blandness.

The elevator ride up was strange. He kept looking sideways at her, like he expected her to say or do something. But when she crinkled her brow in puzzlement, he turned his face straight ahead and stared at the wall. Very formal, okay. She had no clue whether he knew why he’d been sent to fetch her, and she had to admire his poker face.

“I was just dropping my purse off and checking on something before I came up,” she offered into the uncomfortable silence.

“Okay,” he responded, sounding as though he didn’t care and was barely even listening. Jane didn’t push it any further. Frankly, she didn’t have any burning need to chat with the bodyguard. If he didn’t feel like conversation, that was fine by her. She went back to humming Beastie Boys tunes.

She was, she admitted to herself silently, a little anxious. That’s why she was humming now, because she wanted to drown out the anxiety. She wanted to get back to the way she’d been feeling on the walk here. She wanted to feel on top of the world.

Everything’ll be fine, she reassured herself. Everything’ll be fine.

* * *

She walked into the living room looking clean and well-rested. Two hours ago, that would have been a relief. Now, seeing her wave and give him that wide, crooked smile just made him angrier.

“Hi,” she said, leaning over the back of the sofa a few feet away from him. Was it his imagination, or did she look nervous? Good. She ought to be nervous. When he didn’t reply immediately, she grimaced. “I guess you got some interesting messages last night?”

He still couldn’t bring himself to say anything. He was, he decided, too angry.

Her wince this time was less theatric and more sincere. “Look, I’m really—”

“You’re fired.” Even to his own ears, his voice sounded clipped and furious.

Jane jerked back as if she’d been slapped. “Ex _cuse_ me?”

This time he tried to mediate his voice, making himself sound as though he was already bored with the conversation. “I said you’re fired.”

She put her hands on her hips, face quickly taking on a dangerous scowl. “No, I’m not.”

He turned his head, pretending the view out the window was more interesting than her outrage. “Don’t make me have Brock kick you out.”

She walked around the edge of the sofa, coming around past the window so he’d _have_ to look at her. “You agreed this job was _not_ contingent on me putting out—you have no say in my personal life whatsoever.”

The word _bitch_ flashed through his head, but he just raised his eyebrows austerely. “Fine, then you’re fired for missing a whole day of work yesterday. You didn’t even call in.”

Her jaw actually dropped. He liked the idea that he’d caught her so off guard. Let _her_ suffer a little bit!

“I was _kidnapped_ ,” she exclaimed, as though he might have forgotten that. “I was _unconscious_!” Hm, well, not for all of it. “And you _know_ I was unconscious, because they sent you _photos_!”

“Oh, you want to bring up photos?” Damn it, that hadn’t sounded bored and superior at all. He took refuge from the sharp ache inside him by clinging to the injury she’d done to his public image, instead. “Just wait’ll the press gets hold of these! I’m going to be a laughingstock!”

“You’d be a laughingstock _if_ the press thought we were an item,” she seethed, eyes flashing. “Which as far as I know, they don’t. Because we’re _not_.”

Those words landed like a fresh stab wound. Luckily, Rusty Venture had a lot of practice working through stab wounds. “And _then_ you turn up here late today,” he went on as though he hadn’t even heard her.

“I had to go home and _shower_ ,” she said, voice rising. He expected to see her eyes flash angrily again, or maybe (hopefully) even to see a little hurt in them. Instead, her face went still and distance for a moment. And then she smiled. The nerve of her! _Smiling_ right now! That was another stab wound!

“What’re you smiling about?” he demanded, wishing she’d just leave already.

She turned the smile on him, and it was devastating. “Oh, come on, Rusty,” she said, her tone suddenly soothing and seductive. “You’re _jealous_. It’s cute!”

 _That_ was what had calmed her down? Realizing that he was jealous? And she found it _cute_? Some of his hurt seeped away, even though he was still angry with her. “I am not,” he protested weakly. Jealousy would imply that he cared. Which after this morning, he definitely didn’t.

Jane closed the gap between them, sitting down in his lap as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “It’s cute,” she said again, slipping an arm around his shoulder. He did not lift his arms to touch her in return—in fact, he tried to stay as stiff and unresponsive as possible, giving her nothing. It didn’t stop her putting a hand on his cheek and turning his face to see her apologetic smile. “You _have_ to know it didn’t mean anything. They kidnapped me and held me hostage. You’ve been there! What was I supposed to do?” She shrugged helplessly, and he found himself nodding. He _had_ been there. Granted, most of his kidnappings had consisted of being dangled over a tank of sharks or a helicopter door or something, but—

“I agreed to do a little video,” Jane went on, “and they let me go home. It was nothing! You _know_ it was nothing.” As she said it, he started to believe her. Of course it was nothing. What had he been so upset about? She’d _looked_ like she’d been enjoying it, but she was also a very smart woman. Why shouldn’t she use her sexuality to escape, if that was the only weapon she had? He still wasn’t happy about it, and her comment about them not being an item still stung, but most of the anger seeped away.

She pressed her lips into his cheek affectionately. “Tell the truth now,” she coaxed with a smile. “You’re just upset because you didn’t get to be my knight in shining armor, aren’t you?”

“Maybe a little,” he admitted, thawing out a bit more. If Brock hadn’t been so difficult, they could have rescued her while she was still unconscious, and then he’d be her hero right now. At least she thought he was cute. “I was worried about you,” he confessed in a serious understatement.

“Aw, really?” She seemed pleased by that, if the way she rubbed against him and kissed his neck was anything to go by. “Nothing to worry about, I’m fine.” She put a hand over his chest to reassure him, and he wondered if she could feel how hard it was beating just then. “Just don’t make me leave,” she pleaded.

He’d wanted to fire her. He really had. The anger and hurt were still fresh, even if she’d made them recede. And yet…she was here, and she’d explained herself, and she was serious about wanting to stay. She was overselling it right now, with those big pleading eyes and pouty lips, but beneath that she really _did_ want to stay. If she didn’t care at all, if this had all just been a plot to hurt him, then why would she have come into work today?

“Maybe I was a bit hasty,” he said reluctantly.

She smiled at him, and that smile demolished any other objections he might have. “Just a little. I didn’t have a choice about what I did in front of The Monarch’s camera. Coming back here _was_ my choice,” Jane said, unknowingly echoing his thoughts. “I like it here.”

He stroked her thigh, pushing those awful pictures out of his head. “You _do_ come up with some fantastic ideas. I wouldn’t want to lose that, if this is really where you want to be.”

“Of _course_ it is,” she promised, and brushed her lips against his cheek a second time. “I’m sorry I upset you.”

She did sound sorry. He was sorry, too, for overreacting. They ought to make up, put this all behind them. Yes, lots of making up. “I _suppose_ I can overlook it,” he teased gently, and went in for the kiss.

When her lips parted against his, and she didn’t push him away (because a small part of him had still been afraid that she would), his remaining reservations were washed away in a flood of passion. He wrapped his arms around her back, pulling her in deeper.

And then, just when he was starting to think about inviting her upstairs, her hands pushed gently back against his shoulders. She turned her head and bit her lower lip, avoiding his eyes. That was just as well, because he hadn’t yet collected himself to hide the surprise and pain in them.

“I’m sorry,” she said in a hollow voice. “I’m not really in the mood, after everything…last night. You can understand that, right?”

 _That_ was the problem? Relief swept over him. Naturally, she’d need time to recover from being forced to… His mind turned hastily away from those images. Yes, he could see how that would be difficult for her. He was disappointed, but he couldn’t think of any way to object without looking insensitive. “I guess so.”

Jane gave him a tentative smile and didn’t move any further away. Poor girl. She really must be traumatized. She must have been putting on a brave face up till now, he should have realized it from the start. “And you’re not going to fire me over it?” she asked uncertainly. “I mean, seriously, the alternative was them mailing you my fingers.”

Rusty was horrified. Malcom had threated to cut off her _fingers_? That was outrageous! How could she possibly think he’d still fire her, knowing all this? “What kind of monster do you think I am?” he demanded, insulted, before hurrying to reassure her. “You must be a mess! Do you want…” What would help right now? “A drink? Or something?” That would help her relax after her ordeal. And he knew by now that she didn’t care for cocktails, so he’d bring out the bottle of good Scotch instead.

Sadly, she started shaking her head again. “No, I kind of just want to get back to work. Make up for yesterday, you know?” She shrugged free of his arms and stood. “You don’t know if Billy maintained the temp on those cultures, do you?”

What cultures? How was her mind already back in the lab? Just a minute ago they’d been locked in a passionate embrace, and now she was thinking about cultures? “I have no idea,” he answered blankly.

“Crap,” he heard her mutter as she looked around distractedly. “I need to get down there!” At least she hesitated and looked back at him before moving toward the door. “That’s alright, isn’t it? I want to distract myself right now.”

He could think of much nicer ways of distracting her, but she clearly knew her own mind. She _always_ knew her own mind. She’d come back when she was ready. She was still here, as she’d said—that was what really mattered, however much his penis might disagree just then. “Certainly. Go on, get back to work.” He forced a smile.

With a grateful smile, she headed to the elevators.

Not ten seconds had passed before Brock strolled into the room, holding a cup of coffee. “How’d the firing go?”

Rusty scowled and pulled a pillow into his lap. “Were you eavesdropping this whole time?

“Yup.” Brock sipped his coffee, letting a beat pass before adding, “Good job.”

“Oh, shut up. You heard her, she had no choice. We could have saved her from that, if you’d listened to me last night.”

Brock shrugged unapologetically. “Sorry.” He took another sip of coffee.

He sighed irritably. “Where’s Hank?”

“Hiya Pop,” said Hank cheerfully, popping out of the kitchen. “So, that was Jane, huh?”

And he’d been thinking about taking her up to his bedroom! “You people are unbelievable!”

* * *

He was unable to get her alone the following day. This was a source of serious annoyance and frustration, for two reasons. First, because he genuinely wanted to see how she was recovering from her ordeal, and whether another visit to his jacuzzi might help it along. And secondly, because it was Friday, and she didn’t work weekends. True, he could have talked to her while Billy and White were around, but he knew it was exactly the sort of conversation they’d listen in on—and filling them in on her abduction wasn’t an idea he mush relished. Apparently, even when you owned a whole skyscraper in New York City, it was hard to find any privacy.

Showing remarkable self-restraint, he did _not_ try calling her that evening. She’d mentioned her second job enough times that he’d taken the hint. Hank had headed over to campus with the intent of dragging Dean to some party he’d heard about God-knew-how, so Rusty spent the evening playing poker with Brock, Hatred, and H.E.L.P.eR. The old robot turned out to be surprisingly good at it, beating even Brock two times out of three. As far as depressing nights at home went, it wasn’t too terrible. He went to bed wondering idly what H.E.L.P.eR. was going to do with $320 in winnings.

And woke up in the middle of the night to the frenetic beeping of their security system. Times like this, he missed having the old panic room at the compound. “Brock?” He hit the button on his wristwatch. “What’s going on?” It _could_ be something as simple as Hank coming in late and forgetting to enter the right code in the elevator. It could also be The Monarch or some other asshole from the Guild trying to prove a point by destroying the whole building. Or anything in between.

“Dunno yet,” Brock’s voice answered. “Get in the closet while I figure it out.”

His bedroom had a master closet that doubled as a small panic room, but it wasn’t the most comfortable place to spend the night. It was also the only remotely secure spot in the penthouse. “Are the boys here?”

“Dunno,” Brock repeated unhelpfully. “I’ll find ‘em if they are.”

He’d have to be satisfied with that. With a sigh, Rusty grabbed his robe and padded over to the closet, tuning out the repeated sound of the alarm. Good think he kept a book in there. He made it through one chapter and had just started on another when Brock’s face took over the empty wall to his right. “We’re clear. Just some of The Monarch’s goons, far as I can tell. No sign of the boys, but Hank’s shoes aren’t here so he’s probably still out with Dean.”

That was a relief. “Any damage?”

Brock hesitated before answering. “Nothing major.”

“Brock?” he prompted suspiciously.

“No, it’s nothing. Just some graffiti. We’ll hire someone to clean it up in the morning.”

Rusty fanned a lengthy yawn and moved his bookmark to its new place. “So I’m clear to go back to bed?”

“Just doing one last sweep to make sure I got ‘em all. Caught one sneaking through the living room.”

He sighed, which turned into another yawn. “Hurry up, would you? I’d like a good night’s sleep for once!”

Sixteen pages later, he was able to unlock the closet doors and return to bed. Twenty minutes later, he woke up to a loud crash. This time, however, it was followed not by the alarm system, but by Dean calling “Sorry! Just a vase!”

Rusty grabbed his glasses and stuck his head out the bedroom door, peering through the darkness. “You didn’t cut yourself, did you?” Dean always bled so easily. The last thing he needed was bloody footprints going all the way up the steps. They’d had to deep clean them after the last time Brock stopped intruders, and the carpet had felt damp for _days_.

This was met with silence. “Er…maybe a little?”

“A little?” That was Hank. “What, did you hit a vein? It looks like Carrie’s prom night in here!”

Rusty groaned and headed downstairs, hitting the panel for lights on the way. “Did you forget how to turn on the lights?” he snapped, taking in the scene that awaited him. Hank was leaning against the back of the sofa, reeking of some awful cologne. Dean was sitting on the carpet next to a fallen coffee table, a shattered Aztec vase in pieces around him. His foot was leaking blood liberally into the white plush carpeting.

“We were trying not to wake you,” Dean explained.

“Well done,” Rusty responded sarcastically. “Thanks to your efforts, I’m still sound asleep in my bed.” He headed into the kitchen, grabbing a wad of paper towels. “Why didn’t you spend the night on campus?”

“We were going to, but Jared…uh…”

“Oh.” He nodded knowingly. “Sock on the doorknob?”

“No, he accidentally covered the room with webbing. We haven’t gotten it cleaned up yet.”

Right. He passed the paper towels to Dean, who immediately folded them neatly before pressing them against the cut on his heel. Once they stopped the bleeding, he’d get back to bed and leave the clean-up for morning. Brock had already mentioned something about graffiti, so this was just one more thing to add to the list. Rusty glanced at his watch, this time just to establish the time. Four in the morning. Lovely.

“Was The Monarch here earlier?” Hank inquired, unconcernedly watching his brother bleed instead of attempting to help in any way.

“How’d you know?” The graffiti must be more significant than Brock had let on, if they’d noticed it on their way in at four a.m.

“Because the side of the building says _Venture has a tiny dick_ in six-foot high letters,” Hank said. “And then that butterfly logo The Monarch always wears.”

“ _And_ they painted a giant penis,” Dean added helpfully. “Which kind of undermines the whole point about you having a small one, doesn’t it?”

“I _don’t_ have a—” Rusty closed his eyes and counted to ten. “You know what? I don’t even care. We’ll have it repainted in the morning. I’m going back to bed.”

He did exactly that, and this time he slept through until nearly ten o’clock. It was a good thing he did, too, because his Saturday was exactly as tedious as he’d expected it to be. He went out to survey the graffiti for himself after he’d finished his coffee, and it was exactly as the boys had described it. The pedestrians pausing to smirk or laugh at it did not improve his mood. He called in the Pirate Captain as well as Hatred and demanded they fix it as quickly as possible.

With that done, he went to survey the damage to the living room. The stains had dried to an unpleasant brown while he slept. He sent H.E.L.P.eR. to find the number for the company they’d used to remove blood stains the last time. Then he attempted to sit down and have some brunch. His toast had gotten cold while he was distracted by the vandalism.

The whole day was like that. He discovered the lock on the patio door had been broken, and when he went out to investigate, he found a damaged railing, more graffiti, and a pool in need of cleaning. A pity that he couldn’t send Malcom a bill for all the damages, but he supposed this was preferable to some of his other antics. He hoped Jane was doing alright.

By evening, the living room carpet was wet but clean. Naturally, Hank dropped a piece of pizza onto it almost immediately. The graffiti on the patio had yet to be fixed, but the stuff visible from the street had been at least partially obscured by fresh paint. Dean returned to the dorm long enough to check on the state of his room (still partially covered in webs) and gather up a giant bag of dirty laundry. Meanwhile, Hank had a loud and lengthy video chat with Dermott, which Rusty rather enjoyed catching snatches of. Though he’d never admit it, there was something nice about having everyone home.

* * *

The smell of bacon grease hit her in the face as she walked in the doors of a beige brick building. Gary was waiting for her just inside, dressed in tan cargo pants and a blue collared shirt. For a split second he kept looking past her, like he was waiting for someone else. Then she smiled at him, and his eyes widened. “Jane? Oh wow, you look…wow.”

Her grin widened. “I know, I clean up pretty nice.” She looked him up and down appreciatively. “So do you.”

He _blushed_. Fucking adorable. And then he looked around the crowded family restaurant and blushed harder. “I should have taken you someplace fancy.”

“It’s not _your_ fault I overdressed,” she pointed out, stepping closer so that her shoulder brushed against his arm. She’d pulled her hair up into a sleek knot at the top of her head for the occasion, donning ankle boots and a red sweater tank dress with a big retro zipper down the front. It would have been perfect for a casual dinner out in the city, but in a Jersey IHOP she definitely looked out of place. “I’m just excited to see you again.” Did she just say that out loud? What had gotten _into_ her? “Because apparently I’m a total dork.”

Before she could react, he turned and put his arms around her, huge biceps pulling her snug up against his huge chest. She was momentarily puzzled as her body gave her conflicting fight or fuck signals, and then she realized it was a _hug_. Jane knew, theoretically, that people embraced one another just because they were happy to see each other. But damned if she could think of the last time it had happened to her. Her smile felt frozen as she stretched my arms around his sides, weakly returning the gesture. It felt…nice. Safe. Not sexual, though her heartrate picked up anyway. She really wish it would quit doing that.

She pulled back. With her boots on, he only had about half a foot height on her. Even with three-inch heels, she was dwarfed by the guy. There was something enticing about that.

He must have been thinking about how she fit against him, too. “You got taller,” he remarked.

Jane’s cheeks tugged upward, out of order—first one side, then the other, into a stupid lopsided smile. “Last time I was barefoot, genius.”

“Yeah, but so was I.”

Fair point. She picked a foot up, angling her calf to give him a good look. “These’ll do that.”

His eyebrows shot up as he examined the boot. “How do you _walk_ in those?” He shook his head in wonder.

She bared my teeth in what was part grin, part grimace of triumph. “Lots of practice.”

He checked her out again, nodding approvingly. “With the extra height and that dress, you look like Lt. Uhura.”

Ah, the red. She could see it, especially with her hair pulled up. “Hailing frequencies open, sir!” She winked. Then it occurred to her to wonder _which_ Lt. Uhura. “The new one, or the original?” Either one would be a compliment, but she was curious.

“J.J. Abrams.”

She nodded. That was about what she’d expected. “I really don’t get why they made her into Spock,” she reflected. “I mean, fuck, Data from Next Gen showed more real human emotion than he did!”

“To be fair, Spock’s not human. He’s Vulcan.”

She rolled her eyes. “And that gives him the right to act all detached and superior? He reminds me of my dad. Hard pass.”

Talking about Star Trek had clearly relaxed him. The way he grinned at her was totally open, honest, and adorable. “Hey, nice to know you do have some standards.”

She lifted my eyebrows. “I can’t figure out if that’s a self-burn, or a burn on me.”

His laugh was a little embarrassed. “Um. Me. So, um. Wanna get a table?”

She blinked. “I assumed you’d already given them your name. Aren’t we waiting?”

“Only for you! Haven’t you ever been here before?”

She felt her brow furrow in thought as she followed him up to the hostess’ stand. “I don’t think so. Places _like_ this, but I don’t think I’ve ever been to an IHOP. I don’t know, it’s been a while.”

The chipper hostess led them to a small table near one of the windows. “Is this alright?” Gary asked anxiously.

“Of course,” Jane said, thinking back to some of the awkward group hangs she’d gone to at similar places during that one year of college. The few she could remember had been in the middle of the night, and she’d been either stoned or drunk. “If left to my own devices, I’d never bother to eat a square meal. I’m just here for the company. So if this is some place you like, I’m happy.” She flipped open the menu.

He did too, but she didn’t get the impression he was really looking at it. “So.” He cleared his throat. “You had the whole day off today, right? How’s that been?”

She groaned. “I’ve been bored out of my mind! It’s been so long since I actually _had_ a day off, I don’t know what to do with myself anymore!” She gave him the summary anyhow, even though she was almost afraid that describing it would put him to sleep. Her description of doing yoga while watching _Dune_ seemed to go over well, though. “Jeez, _Dune_ too? What _other_ nerd stuff are you into?”

While she formulated her answer, she resumed flipping idly back and forth through the menu. Okay, where was it? Was she losing her mind? “There’s no salads on this menu,” she finally said, giving up and stating the fact.

“You want a _salad_ at _IHOP_?” Gary looked almost personally offended by this bad judgement. “That’s…that’s just terrible! No one orders a salad at IHOP!”

“Because they’re not on menu.” Kind of hard to order something that wasn’t an option.

“Because that would defeat the whole point of IHOP!” He was _so_ scandalized.

She laughed and glanced down at the menu again. “Okay, you win. I’ll get something fattening.” She was going to have to indulge herself, clearly. Okay, strawberries and cream crepes. She’d probably burned enough calories this morning at kickboxing, and she knew she’d enjoy strawberries. Her stomach, deprived of solid food for longer than she’d willingly admit, grumbled at the thought.

“Thanks.” He smiled at her again, and her stomach stopped growling and did a dip. “I’d feel bad about ordering a stack of pancakes if you weren’t eating. And I’m _starving_.”

“Oh yeah, what were you up all night _doing_ , anyway?”

“Uh…breaking into VenTech?”

Good grief, did he think she was going to be _mad_? “You didn’t fuck with my stuff in the lab, did you?”

“Nope, nowhere near the lab,” he reassured her, shaking his head. The movement stirred the little stray lock of hair on his forehead, and she leaned across the table to brush it back. The second she removed her fingers, it fell back out of place. Cute. Her heart skipped a beat, and when she dropped her hand she left it near his elbow. He took that as the invitation it was, and adjusted his hand to rest on top of hers. They smiled at each other.

“So, um, go on?” Jane said when she realized she was just staring at him and holding his hand. “You broke into VenTech?”

“Oh yeah, right. Nothing major, The Monarch just got in the mood to go mess some shit up. You know, take a dump in his pool, spray paint a giant mural telling the city Venture has a tiny dick, that sort of thing.”

She snorted, bringing her free hand up to cover her smirk. “That’s juvenile.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, “but you laughed! And it makes him happy.”

She shook my head, still smirking. “That took you all night?”

“Nnnno. One of the new recruits decided to take _initiative._ He broke in, wanted to go sharpie up Venture’s face. I mean, props for effort, right? The Monarch would have _loved_ the idea, he’d just be mad he didn’t think of it first.”

“But?” She asked. There was clearly a “but.”

“Hi I’m Katie I’ll be your server today welcome to IHOP can I get you anything to drink?”

They both turned to look at the waitress. “Just a water,” Jane told her. Gary asked for Diet Pepsi. Katie nodded and asked if they were ready to order. Jane looked across the table. “I am, but you’ve hardly looked at the menu.”

“I already know what I want.” He addressed the waitress again. “Chocolate-chocolate chip pancakes. Extra whipped cream.”

 _Holy shit, talk about indulgent._ She ordered her strawberry crepes, and Katie thankfully went to place the order and left them alone.

“So, what went wrong?” she asked, returning to the subject at hand again. “With the Great Sharpie Plot?”

“Oh, he set the security system off. Woke up Samson.”

She winced sympathetically. “ _You_ didn’t get hurt, did you?”

“No, but Twelve wound up in the hospital.” He shook his head, looking downcast. “He’s lucky to be alive at all. If Brock had _caught_ him, he wouldn’t be.”

“He didn’t catch him? Then what happened?”

“He jumped off the balcony to get away.”

“Ouch.” Jane winced again. The guy must have found a way to slow his descent, because a fall from that height sounded more fatal than an encounter with Brock, but what did she know.

“Yeah,” Gary agreed. “Anyway, I couldn’t just leave him there. I took him to the hospital and waited for his brother to turn up. It’s too bad.” He sighed, and she squeezed his hand.

“He knew the risks when he signed up. And then when he tried to go against orders and break in.”

“I know. But he’s a good kid. I’d been teaching him how to throw a better punch. He had potential, you know? And no way he’s ever gonna walk again, so now we’ll have to replace him.”

One of his subordinates had gone rogue, compromised the mission, and nearly gotten himself killed. And instead of being furious with him, Gary had stayed with him at the hospital into the wee hours until next of kin had turned up. Hero. She shook her head. “You’re too nice for this business.”

“Um, did you miss the part where we went to someone’s house just to crap in their pool?”

She snorted again—still funny. “I hope The Monarch knows what he’s got in you.”

He shrugged a little bit. A server who wasn’t Katie deposited a soda and a water onto the table. They both took a sip, and the conversation lagged. It didn’t feel bad, though. She was kind of enjoying watching him put the straw into his glass and drink.

Impulsively, she pulled the end off my straw’s paper covering and pulled the remainder down to the end. Then she blew it at him.

“Hey!” He flinched as it bounced off his collarbone, but when he realized what it was he started laughing. “I can’t believe you just did that!”

“Why not?” she demanded.

“Because it’s…’cause it’s goofy and cute!”

Jane jutted out her lower lip. “I’m not goofy and cute?”

“Ah.” He suddenly seemed really interested in a scuff on the table. “Not really. You’re…cool. And smart. And gorgeous…funny…seductive. A little intimidating.” He lifted one shoulder and flicked his glance up from the table very quickly.

She stuck her foot out under the table and nudged his calf, letting him know it was alright. “That’s fair,” she said, and he looked at her for real. “I’m out of practice at being cute. It’s not really a useful skill.”

He smiled at her, profoundly relieved. “Good! I didn’t want to piss you off.”

She raised her eyebrows, amused. “Am I really _that_ scary?”

“No! Well okay, maybe a little. But I meant because you’re a girl who actually seems to like me, so I keep expecting to totally blow it.”

She rolled my eyes. “You’re not gonna blow it. If anything, _I’m_ gonna blow it.”

“You? Why would _you_ blow it?”

“Do I look like I go on a lot of dates?”

“Honestly? Yes.”

“Well, I don’t.” _Date_ implied _relationship_ , which somewhere along the way had become anathema to her.

“So we’re _both_ gonna blow it?” He scratched at a small cut on his jaw.

“Probably.” She bobbed her shoulders in an apologetic half-shrug.

Gary smiled weakly. “Okay. That’s…kind of a relief.”

She nudged his leg again and grinned. “Low expectations. Let’s get through lunch without fucking up, yeah?”

“Works for me.” He took another sip from his straw, and she copied him. “So…boy, this is weird. Any luck on the…oh hey! You were going to tell me about all your fandoms.”

Discussion of science fiction took them easily through until their food arrived. Jane was still ranting about midichlorians when the waitress brought out their food. Jane’s crepes smelled so enticing that she stopped talking to slice off a bite with her fork and taste it. It had been way too long since she’d eaten something like this. The sweetness flowed over her tongue until she was practically drooling, and she closed her eyes to savor it. She chewed slowly, eyes still closed, borderline orgasmic. Strawberries and cream, holy fucking shit.

“Okay,” said Gary when she opened her eyes to see him staring at her. “There is no way a crepe can be _that_ good.”

She shoved her plate toward him, offering him a bite. The taste was still lingering on her tongue. Heaven.

“It’s good,” he conceded, still chewing. “But this is better.” He picked up his own fork, carefully slicing out a slivered stack of chocolate pancakes, making sure there was some chocolate syrup and whipped cream in the bite. “Here.”

She was still drooling from her crepes. If there was a chance his was really better, she wasn’t going to turn it down. She leaned over the table, opening her mouth enough to fit her lips around the pancake and pull it off his fork. She closed her eyes again the second it hit her tongue. The fluffy pancake and chocolate syrup were good, but it was that light touch of whipped cream that really did it. She swallowed, chewed twice, rolled it around her tongue.

She opened her eyes, still chewing slowly. “I’d forgotten there were foods as good as sex,” she said, hearing the awed tones in her voice.

“See?” He grinned. “Told you it was good. What the hell have you been eating before now, though?” His tone grew suspicious. “Did your dad not let you have chocolate? Because if not, I see why you hate him.”

The pancake was slowly dissolving on her tongue. “He didn’t, as a matter of fact. And I mostly live on nutrition shakes. Cooking takes time and money I don’t have.”

That puzzled Gary. “Isn’t cooking like…chemistry? You’d kick ass at it.”

Jane swallowed what was left of her bite. “Well damn, after _this_ , I kind of want to try. I didn’t know aerosolized whipped cream and sugar was this amazing.” She stuck her finger into the mound of whipped cream that was still on his pancakes and licked it off.

“You have led a terrible life,” Gary informed her seriously. “Also, do you know you’re, uh…never mind.”

“Hm?” She was sucking the remaining traces of whipped cream off her finger. Then she saw the way he was watching her. “Oh.” She hadn’t actually _meant_ to come across as seductive that time. She was just enjoying the food—a little too much, maybe, but nothing more than that. But the way he was looking at her made her want to do it again, and _not_ just for the food.

Okay, easy solution there. She grabbed his hand, directing it down to his plate, and helped him swipe a large dollop of cream onto _his_ finger. Which she promptly brought up to her mouth and removed for him. She kept her eyes open this time, watching him as she did it. She was enjoying herself immensely, and judging from his body language he was, too. She ran her tongue along his finger once more, reluctant to let go of his hand. “Whipped cream is the bomb,” she said firmly. “I want to just eat a giant bowl of whipped cream.”

He started to say something, stopped himself, then went for it. “I’m pretty sure we have a whole can of it in the fridge at home.”

She grinned and cut herself another bite of crepe. “Is that an invitation?”

“If you’re gonna keep eating like _that_? Um, yeah!”

She laughed, which didn’t go very well with her mouthful of food. First she nearly spat it out, and then when she tried to swallow quickly instead she nearly choked. “This is why I don’t eat,” she rasped between coughs, holding up a hand so he knew he didn’t have to jump up and give her the Heimlich maneuver.

Luckily, that was as close as she came to blowing it. They finished their meal (well, he did; she was full halfway through her plate) and he insisted on paying the bill. Not that she fought him that hard for it—it wasn’t that pricey, but she was still happy to not have the additional expense.

They discussed their ambitions during the short walk from the restaurant back to his neighborhood. Like Jane, Gary seemed to feel that he’d hit the ceiling on opportunities that interested him. She was stunned that he didn’t want to go further, be a real villain instead of someone else’s number two. He wasn’t even thirty yet, he had to have _something_ else to shoot for!

“No way,” he said firmly in response to that. “This is as much responsibility as I can handle! And me and The Monarch, we’re a good team, you know? He’s my best friend, we have fun hanging out. He comes up with the good arching plans—”

“Like shitting in Rusty’s pool?” Jane cut in mischievously.

He cast her a quick grin as they walked. “That was just for fun. We’ve done _way_ more ambitious stuff.”

“Ohhh, like kidnapping his girlfriend?”

Another grin. “Hey, shut up.”

She couldn’t quite contain her own smile. “Sorry.”

“Nah, it’s fine.” He noticed that she was practically jogging in heels to match his long stride and slowed down. She grabbed onto his hand to even out their pace, and his answering grip made Jane feel like she’d stepped into a warm patch of sunlight. “One time we went all the way to the Amazon. But, uh…what was my point here?”

“He has good ideas, apparently?”

“He does! He’s got a grudge, and he’s just…he’s dedicated. He’s great at it. But the day-to-day organizational stuff, not so much. Making sure the lair is stocked up, groceries are bought, henchmen are recruited and trained, we’re stocked up on weapons, costumes get dry-cleaned, that stuff’s on me.”

“Sounds like a lot of responsibility to me,” she agreed. “And not a lot of glory.”

He shrugged. “You don’t get _hench for life_ tattooed across your stomach if you’re in it for glory.”

“Fair enough.” She’d complimented that tattoo the other night, when they were both shirtless under his robe. “As long as you know you _could_ do better.”

“Well, what about you?” he turned it around. “You said working at VenTech is your only real option because you didn’t finish college. You could always go back! Get a real degree. It doesn’t sound like it’d be exactly _hard_ for you. And then you’d have your pick of chemistry jobs in the city.”

“Nah.” She shook my head, even though she felt like she was glowing from the compliment. “They wouldn’t like my inventions at a real lab.”

“You really like blowing stuff up, huh.”

“Guilty,” she grinned.

“The military would hire you in a heartbeat.”

“Ugh. Too many rules.”

“You don’t know unless you try.”

“You just don’t like my working for VenTech,” she teased him. “Possessive much?”

“ _You_ just don’t want to finish college cause your dad might actually approve,” he fired back.

“Oof,” she grimaced. “You’re not pulling punches!”

He squeezed her hand lightly. “Sorry.”

“Eh.” She attempted to shrug it off. “It’s my own fault for opening up to you.” Which, strangely, she didn’t regret at all. She flashed him a quick grin. “You caught me in a moment of weakness.”

“Oh yeah?” Ugh, he had _such_ a cute smile! “Well now I know _all_ your weaknesses!”

“You do not!”

He only seemed mildly disappointed. “Give me time.”

It would have been fun to cross her arms and glare defiantly at him, but she didn’t want to drop his hand. Besides, they were coming up on a corner and she didn’t know which way to turn on my own. “You’re going to have to torture me,” she said instead, tossing her head.

Gary laughed and led her across the crosswalk to the left. “Right up there,” he said, pointing, and dropped his voice half an octave. “Prepare to meet your doom.”

“Oh, is that what you call your penis?” Jane asked, totally straight face. She waved at his crotch with her free hand. “Hi, Doom.”

“What?” he squawked, actually blushing. “No! I was just…oh, you’re joking.”

She meant to just smile reassuringly, maybe wink at him, but he smiled back and her whole face lit up as her stomach swooped. Butterflies in your stomach, that’s what normal people called the feeling, right? It seemed especially apt in this case.

And it made her doubt whether they _were_ actually joking about walking into her doom. She really liked this guy, and she didn’t have a good track record with relationships. Eating whipped cream off his naked body might just seal her fate here if she wasn’t careful. Yet she was still walking with him down the sidewalk to his house.


	6. Chapter 6

Sunday morning, he came downstairs to find Hank eating a bowl of cereal and watching _Alice in Wonderland_ on tv. Dean was on the other end of the sofa, knees pulled up on the cushions, a textbook in his lap. After a moment’s thought, he fetched his morning coffee and sat down to join them.

It was at that part of the movie where Alice kept changing sizes. He’d never cared much for the story, personally. It felt too much like a bad drug trip, and something about the Cheshire Cat always put him in mind of his father. But the ability to change size based on eating or drinking something…now that was ridiculous. Doing it with the shrink ray was one thing, an external force. But to trigger that sort of reaction through ingestion? Never going to happen.

Unless…

Mind suddenly moving faster than light speed, he grabbed the back of a fresh napkin that had somehow materialized on the coffee table and helped himself to the pen tucked behind Dean’s ear. Assuming there was a way to circumvent…he started jotting down equations. Then it wouldn’t be so difficult to trick the body into following the course… The napkin tore. Damn it!

“I’m going down to the lab,” he announced, dropping the pen into Hank’s empty cereal bowl and taking the napkin with him.

It had been months since his mind came up with something scientific on its own. He’d been bogged down in the semantics of running a business, adjusting to life in the city, and fending off attacks from The Monarch—and that wasn’t even taking Hank’s disappearance, a hoard of _other_ Guild villains, and a possessed building into account! It was no wonder the creative juices hadn’t been flowing, especially when he was surrounded by so many project ideas that were already half finished. Going through everything Jonas had created, evaluating White and Billy’s contributions, and advising Jane on hers, that had taken all his attention.

But this! He could do it. Whether the OSI or Illuminati or the US Government or whoever they were wouldn’t let him _market_ it, but right now he’d be satisfied just to see if he could make it work. _One pill makes you bigger, one pill makes you small…_ He could almost hear Jefferson Airplane playing in his head as he hurried through the laboratory. First, he transferred all the data from the napkin over to crisp white paper as quickly as possible, before any of the ideas got away from him. Then he expanded on it, covering the sheet with scribbled thoughts and possible chemical combinations and equations. It looked, he realized when he put the pen down and stepped back, shaking a cramp out of his hand, fairly insane.

It wasn’t, though. It was brilliant. He headed over to the set of marble tables and cabinets that housed all the general chemical equipment. Jane had stolen a large portion of it away; he could see the distiller sitting at the table she seemed to prefer, not far from a microscope and Erlenmeyer flask. What had she done with that bottle of peptides he’d seen last week? He went to check the fridge, and was still rummaging through the bottles in it (along with a bagel someone had forgotten about) when he heard the door open and close.

Who would be down here on a Sunday? Certainly not Brock or Hank. Possibly Dean, but he’d seemed very focused on his studying. “Hatred?” he guessed, stepping back from the fridge to look in that direction. “What are you—” Not Hatred. It was, in fact, a delightful surprise, donned in a black pair of yoga pants and a green spandex top. “ _Jane!_ I didn’t know you were planning on coming in!” He crossed the room immediately, smile spreading over his face. “Couldn’t keep yourself away, eh?”

She smiled back at him and lifted her eyebrows. “I came to ask you about my paycheck.”

Here _and_ in a better mood, it seemed! She was clearly lying about the paycheck, since she’d never shown any concern about it before and certainly wouldn’t have bothered coming in on a weekend over it. He laughed. “Oh, you did not!”

“Alright,” Jane admitted readily, “I didn’t. I came in because I was bored.” Yes, that sounded much more like Jane. Just as he’d said—she couldn’t keep herself away! “But,” she continued, cocking her head to the side, “since I’ve got you, I _am_ getting a paycheck, right?”

“Of course, of course!” Honestly, he couldn’t remember whether she was even an official employee. The closest thing he had to an HR manager was a traq-addicted former pirate who had yet to give them a real name. Most of the time he just cut people a check when he could no longer avoid doing so. But Jane wouldn’t want to hear all that, so he smiled reassuringly. “It takes time to set these things up. New employee and all that.”

An idea came to him then, his second stroke of brilliance that day. “Though,” he said smoothly, moving close enough that he could have put an arm around her shoulder if he cared to, “it’s not as though you really need the money, is it?”

“What do you mean?” she asked faintly.

“Oh, don’t be coy!” He beamed at her as he laid out his plan. “Everything you could possibly need is right here! No need to keep paying for some grubby apartment. Room, board, and round the clock access to the lab. What do you say?”

She obviously hadn’t been expecting such generosity. Her lips parted in surprise, and she studied him suspiciously. “I don’t know, what’s the catch?”

“No catch!” What sort of catch could there possibly be? Wasn’t that exactly what she wanted? She could work as long and as hard as she wanted, slip into the penthouse jacuzzi on a whim, and jump into his bed whenever the mood struck her. Maybe she was just nervous because of the fiasco the other day. Well, he could reassure her on that point, too! “We treat our employees like family. And if you were living here, you’d have our security. No more risk of abductions.”

This did not get the reception he’d expected. Jane crossed her arms over her chest, and her eyebrows went back up her forehead. “Are you sure? Because if I moved in here, I think that would send the signal that I _am_ someone you care about, and that’d make me _more_ likely to get abducted.” Her eyebrows came all the way down into a scowl. “I don’t like being a pawn.”

Was _that_ what she thought? He put his hands on her upper arms, eager to comfort her. “You’re not a pawn! I’m just trying to keep you safe!”

The scowl left her attractive face, but she stared at him for a long, silent moment. Her eyes looked…trapped? Pained. As if there was something she longed to tell him, and maybe she did. He stared earnestly back, trying his best to read her thoughts. Just as he took a step closer, she blinked and smiled. Perhaps he’d only imagined it.

“Thank you,” she said, and her smile looked perfectly sincere. “I really appreciate the offer…which would conveniently mean that you don’t have to pay me, I bet!” She winked at him, and he smirked in a way that didn’t _quite_ tell her she would win that bet. “But,” she went on, “I like my independence too much. I don’t want to feel like I’m…beholden to anyone.”

She wanted her independence? What did she need _that_ for, when she could have security? He struggled not to appear too crestfallen. “Not even if I give you your own room?”

That made her laugh, and for a moment he felt pretty good about himself. Then she said “I was already assuming that was part of the deal,” and sighed. “What did we agree when you hired me?

This again? Yes, she _said_ their work and personal relationships had to stay separate, but how many times had she broken her own rule? If they were going to keep on like this, it would make so much more sense to drop the pretenses. He’d enjoy having her safe and close, yes, but this would make things easier for her, too. It seemed silly to refuse just because she didn’t want to get work and romance mixed up.

She was waiting expectantly. “I know, I know,” he snapped. “I just thought you might’ve…changed your mind.” When put like that, it sounded stupid. He fumbled, trying to find a better way to articulate what he meant.

Sadly, Jane didn’t give him a chance. “I like you,” she said with a wistful smile. “But don’t go getting any ideas, okay?” Ha, that ship had already sailed! “I’m not girlfriend material. Like, _really_ not.” She sighed, letting her shoulders slump, and shook her head. “I just came here to do some work. Because I was bored. Can I do some work?  
_Not girlfriend material._ What did she call what they’d been doing, then? She didn’t seem to relish hurting him, and she didn’t seem like she was in it for any material perks. She’d said _I like you_ in the same breath! The woman was truly impossible to understand sometimes. Chemistry and independence and sex, what was he supposed to do with that?

And then he realized: she’d just told him. She wanted to work. They were in a laboratory. And _he_ had just had an incredible idea for a new project, one so good it might even impress Jane. “Sure,” he told her eagerly. “I was doing some work myself, if you’d like to see?”

“Yeah?” Her eyes lit with interest, and he smiled. “Something new?”

He led her over to the table where he’d left his notepad and the supplies he’d grabbed out of the cabinet. “Alice in Wonderland pills.”

“No shit!” She didn’t just sound interested, she sounded excited. “Size altering drugs? _Actually_ altering, not just hallucinogens?”

“What use would that be?” He laughed, anxious to share the ideas with her. If anyone could really appreciate them, it would be Jane! “Other than pointing the test subject at a tiny door and watching them try to fit through.” Which did sound entertaining, now that he thought about it. But it wouldn’t be very productive.

Jane laughed, too. That was a beautiful sound. “Not to mention there are plenty of similar items already on the market. But no, seriously? That’s a game changer! What’s your formula?”

“I’m still working out the kinks,” he warned her, settling himself onto a lab stool and handing over his sheet of notes.

“Working out the kinks?” Her eyes passed back and forth over the paper rapidly. “You haven’t even started! But…” She trailed off, eyes widening, and a slow smile crept onto her face as she continued to study the notes. “Holy shit, this could really…” She read more in silence, then abruptly slapped the sheet of paper down on the table in front of him. “That won’t work,” she said, leaning over his shoulder to point to a specific set of chemicals he jotted down as potential triggers for the body’s proteins.

“Why not?” Getting an answer to that was marginally more important than how closely she was pressed against his back.

“It’ll explode.”

“No it wo…oh.” Looking at them again, he realized she might be right. “Only if we use the liquid form.”

“How are you planning on keeping it in its solid form when we distill it all together?” She sounded more curious than accusatory, as though she believed he really had an answer. Nice to see someone having some faith in his abilities for a change!

However, in this case he did _not_ have a good answer. He just hadn’t taken the chemical’s instability into account when he was frantically jotting down thoughts. So he turned it around on her. “Well then, what do _you_ suggest?”

“What if you try adding a glucocorticoid at a later step? It could trigger the same reaction.”

“That’s going to cause an adrenaline spike.”

“What, like suddenly changing size _wouldn’t_ stress you out?” She was smiling. “No, look.” Taking a fresh sheet of paper, she picked up his pen. “All you need to do is substitute some parasympathetic nervous responses to counter it. You can do that with something like…” Her hand moved over the paper, leaving a long chain of chemical symbols behind it. Most of them were the same basic formulas he’d written down, but she was refining it. As though she’d taken the ideas in his head and given them a good shine before returning them.

“That’s good!” He pulled the paper away from her, crossing out one or two quantities and adding a note on refinement as she looked on. “What do you think?”

Jane nodded eagerly. “It could work. It could actually work. I think.” The smile she flashed at him, so different from the polite one she’d given when she arrived, was dazzling. “Only one way to find out, right? Let’s get out some compounds.”

* * *

Jane was excited to get to work, for a whole host of reasons. First, she was always excited to get to work. The thrill of having a lab like VenTech’s as her personal playground had yet to wear off. She had so many projects on the burner, and the one she’d started helping Rusty with last night added another to the pile; she’d think about one project while doing the tedious distilling or heating or measuring for another, and all of them delighted her. She couldn’t wait to complete some of her bombs and show them off to everyone. And the pharmaceuticals, too. They were less exciting, but she was willing to admit they might be more useful to the general public.

And finally, of course, she was excited to get to work because work stopped her thinking about Gary.

They’d been on two dates now, if you could call that first night in The Monarch’s secret lair a date. Which you probably shouldn’t. In fact, none of them were dates. Because she didn’t _date_. Just because you had a meal followed by sex with someone, that didn’t make it a date. She liked good conversation and good sex, that was all.

No, that wasn’t all. She liked _Gary_. She liked his goofy, awkward charm, and the way he blushed when she came onto him, and the way he made her feel…open? Did that make sense? She’d told him who she really was the first night they’d met, and that was a secret she’d gone through a lot of effort to conceal. She’d told him about her time working for the Guild, and he’d told her about the trauma of his best friend dying, and they’d had intellectual discussions about comics and cartoons and sci-fi. Happy! That was the word for how he made her feel. Happy.

But he also made her feel vulnerable, and she _hated_ that. Vulnerability was terrifying. She didn’t know how to care that hard anymore, and she didn’t want to know. That sort of feeling could only lead to pain and disaster, especially since he was the second in command to her boss’s arch-nemesis.

This was too dangerous. She was going to wind up really falling for him, and she couldn’t handle that. Jane in love was a fucking disaster. For her, for him, for everyone. She’d gone out with him, she’d had fun, she’d screwed him, she liked him—and that “liked him” part was exactly why it was a bad idea to see him again. She’d scratched that itch, now she needed to get back to focusing on _her_.

The best solution to that was to stop seeing him. She’d already failed in that regard today, because they’d had a text long conversation while she was on the train to work. But now she was here at the doors of VenTech, and she could walk inside and focus on nothing but _science_. Beautiful, pristine, logical science.

The lobby was fairly busy this morning. She wondered what all the people were there for, since tours didn’t start till nine. Reporters, perhaps? Or a non-profit group hoping for a donation? Could be anything or nothing, and anyway, it didn’t concern her. She gave them a wide berth as she headed to the elevators.

She was just pressing the button when a shadow fell over her. Brock Samson leaned right over her head without acknowledging her as he pressed the up button. Jane barely held back a sigh of frustration. This elevator _always_ went up before it went down. It didn’t matter which button had been pressed first. Now she was going to have to spend an extra minute stuck in the elevator with Mr. Big Tough OSI before getting to her lab. _It’s only a minute_ , she reminded herself, and turned to give Brock a curt nod of acknowledgment. He didn’t return it.

The elevator doors pinged as they opened, and she made a point of getting in before him. The doors closed. They rode up together in silence. The doors opened. And Brock didn’t get off. She raised her eyebrows inquisitively as the doors slid shut again. “I thought this was your stop?”

“You know he was frantic, right?” Brock said, still not looking at her.

Huh? Jane blinked. “What, now?”

“When you got yourself kidnapped,” Brock explained, his tone harsh. He finally turned and faced her, and his face held no sympathy. If he knew that he was the first person there besides Rusty himself to mention the kidnapping, it made no difference to him. “I had to cuff him to his bed to stop him running off in some half-cocked rescue attempt.”

No, she hadn’t known. She’d had no _idea_. She’d assumed that Rusty had just reacted the way she would have, if the tables had been turned. Annoyed, maybe a little worried, but nothing serious. He hadn’t let on last week, either. A faint sensation of guilt snuck up her spine, like an unpleasant itch. She swallowed. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Cause I don’t know what your end game is here,” Brock said, turning his face back to the elevator doors, “but if your goal is to get him wrapped around your little finger, you’ve already done it. Mission accomplished. Get outta here.”

Was that really what he thought? That she was some ambitious schemer, trying to manipulate Rusty? She _liked_ him, damn it! He’d tried to get her to move in last night, and she’d turned _down_ the offer! Why could no one accept that she just wanted to do fucking _chemistry_?

“You don’t like me very much, do you,” she observed coolly.

He shrugged. “I like you just fine.” A beat passed. “I don’t _trust_ you.”

That made a weird sort of sense. “That’s fair,” she responded with a nod. “I wouldn’t trust me either, honestly.” Even _she_ didn’t trust herself these days.

It must not have been the answer Brock expected, because he turned back to study her one more time as the elevator settled in the basement. “What’re you _doing_ here?” he asked, sounding like he really, actually wanted to know.

“Chemistry,” she said, and breezed past him as the doors opened.

* * *

“There’s the second hottest person at VenTech,” Rusty greeted Jane, calling out the words cheerily as he crossed the lab toward her. Working with her yesterday had been exactly what he needed. He felt stimulated, upbeat, confident, maybe even hopeful. When was the last time he’d really enjoyed himself like that when working on something scientific? She was _good_ , better than good. He’d known that before, based on her work—but seeing it in person was different. She hadn’t tried to take over the project, but she’d improved it. He could have done it alone, but she’d made it easier. And when he asked if she wanted to stay late tonight and continue their work, she’d accepted immediately.

He felt on top of the world.

“I thought Brock worked for OSI,” she said mildly, effectively bring him back to earth.

“Oh, ha ha.” He glared at her, showing how unamused he was. That jibe was completely unnecessary! Someone had clearly woken up on the wrong side of the bed today.

“Who’s number one, then?” she pressed, but as he got closer he saw that sparkle of mischief in her eyes. “Because Pete’s okay and all, but I really think I should rank higher.”

She was gorgeous, she knew it, and she couldn’t be bothered to pretend she didn’t. There was something sexy about that. But he wasn’t just going to let a comment like that _pass_ , either. “I was talking about _me_ , missy,” he scolded her as she scraped white powder into a tube with gloved hands.

“Ohhhh.” She attempted to look surprised and apologetic, but there was a smile beneath it. “I didn’t…oh gee…this is awkward.”

She was teasing him, he knew that. She could also be a real bitch sometimes. “Fine, you’re number one. Jeez, I was trying to be _cute_.”

“So was I.” And she rewarded him for tolerating it with one of her bright, genuine, crooked smiles. “Now, if you’d said _second most brilliant_ , I wouldn’t have given you nearly as hard a time.”

A real compliment? That was rare! “Brilliant, really, you think?” He knew he was, of course. But it was always nice to hear.

“After last night?” She set down the tube she’d been holding and looked at him with an expression it took him a moment to identify. “Absolutely. You _altered Planck’s Constant_! With chemistry!” Admiration, that’s what it was. He hadn’t had a woman look at him like that in…oh fine, ever. Even Hank and Dean didn’t look at him like anymore. “That shouldn’t be possible,” Jane went on. “You know that, right? It’s a constant for a reason!”

“Yes, and that reason is because everyone else is an idiot.” He straightened his spine slightly, lifting his chin as his ego swelled. Firmly back on top of the world, he explained it to her. “You start by assuming you know better than them.”

She continued to stare up at him in admiration. “You’re saying no one did this before just because no one believed it was possible?”

He rewarded his star pupil with a smile. “Exactly! I do impossible things all the time.”

For a moment, he thought he’d made a misstep; the awe faded from her face and her posture stiffened. But before he could even begin to worry about what he might have said, her smile returned and she laughed. “I wouldn’t say _all_ the time. But credit where credit’s due. It’s pretty awesome.”

Awesome. Brilliant. That look in her eyes. He knew an invitation when he saw one. “You like brilliant, do you?” he asked, stepping close enough to brush against her lab coat.

“Sometimes,” she murmured, giving no indication she wanted him to stop. She felt, in fact, almost like her usual self again. The trauma of her abduction must be wearing off. Good. “Show me what you’ve got.”

There were few things he would like more, and she knew it. Rusty put his hand on her arm, moving it upward with tantalizing little steps from his fingertips. “You’ve seen it already.”

“I meant in the lab,” she protested with a naughty glint in her eye.

That was true, they’d confined themselves to the bedroom up till now. He hadn’t had fantasy about defiling a lab table like that since college, but there _was_ something deliciously kinky about it. There was the prospect of someone walking in—and with Dean back on campus and Hank’s disinterest in science, the actual _chances_ of someone walking in were minimal. Besides, if that was what it took to get Jane back in the mood, he was more than happy to comply.

“Oh, is _that_ what you’re into?” He raised his eyebrows suggestively as he sat back on the table, watching her reaction as he slowly unfastened the first three buttons of his speed suit. She’d probably want to do the rest herself. He lay back on the table, an open invitation. “Okay, I’m game.”

“I wouldn’t,” Jane said with a look of concern. “For a brilliant guy, you seem a little too eager to lie down in spilled chemicals.”

He sat up hurriedly, embarrassed by his own carelessness. He’d assumed if she suggested it, the table was _clean_! “You could have warned me!”

“I was doing lab work when you walked in,” she reminded him, very deadpan. “I thought you might have noticed.”

“What _is_ this?” he asked, covering his embarrassment with irritation as he dusted the white powder from his suit.

“Hydrogen fluoride.” Rusty’s instincts took over and he jumped clear of the table, looking for the nearest decontamination shower. Amazingly, the acid hadn’t burned his fingers on contact, so maybe… She was joking. Of _course_ she was joking. He would have noticed immediately it had actually been hydrogen fluoride. He stopped looking for a decon station and glared at her as she started laughing.

“Okay, just kidding,” she admitted, interrupting herself with her own case of the giggles. “It’s actually azidoazide azide.” A fresh burst of giggles consumed her.

“You have a sick sense of humor,” he observed dryly.

“I know,” she choked out, cheeks flushed.

He had to know. “What is it really?”

Jane shrugged and successfully arranged her features into something resembling a straight face. “Probably just alum. But it’s hard to say. All these white powdered chemicals look white and powdery, you know?” She kept the giggles at bay this time, but her grin returned.

He sighed. She was in a good mood, which was nice, he approved of that. But she seemed to have settled on silly rather than sexy for the moment, which was a bit of a disappointment. “Why did I hire you again?” he asked, more because he thought it would amuse her than because he’d actually forgotten.

“Because I’m smart, talented, hot, and work for practically nothing?” Oh sure, _now_ she got control of her laughter.

“Right.” Rusty went to wash his hands off, because _probably just alum_ wasn’t the most reassuring answer she could have given. Once he’d dried them, he rebuttoned his suit. “What were you even working on?”

She was wiping down the table now, so at least she intended to focus on their project. “Just explosives. Something the government will be happy to buy off of you once I’ve got it right. But nowhere near as exciting as upending Planck’s Constant.”

Still feeling a little miffed at what was apparently not happening tonight, he muttered “Why don’t you go have sex with Planck’s Constant, then?”

He hadn’t been looking for an answer, but she gave him one anyway. “Because I prefer men. And if I was doing that, I wouldn’t be doing science. I mean, face it. I could have sex with anyone.” How thoughtful of her to remind him, he thought darkly, before she concluded “The list of people I want to work with is a lot shorter.”

That was an odd compliment, but once he worked it over in his brain for a while he decided he liked it. Not necessarily the part where she apparently had a long list of men she wanted to sleep with, but the part about wanting to work with _him_. Because, as she’d said before, he was brilliant. And they really did make a great team in the lab.

“I ought to warn you,” he told her as he perused the list of possible chemical combinations he’d written down the day before, “the last partner I had in a lab lost his jaw in an explosion.”

Jane seemed more intrigued than concerned. “What kind of explosion?”

Ah yes, that was her forte. “I don’t know, I wasn’t even there!”

She made no effort to conceal her disappointment. “You didn’t create it?”

“Afraid not,” he said, thinking it was an odd thing to be apologizing for. “But that didn’t stop Werner from holding it against me.”

“The same Werner from spring break?” she asked curiously.

He’d forgotten he’d told her that story. “One and the same.”

“So really…” She grew thoughtful, not finishing the thought before heading off to gather up their supplies. He left her to it, crossing off things they’d already tried off his list. Doing so gave him fresh ideas, and he didn’t look up until she dumped an array of flasks and jars on the table in front of him. “So _really_ , what you’re saying is that, functioning as your lab partner here, I’m in more danger of getting dragged on a crappy vacation than I am of exploding.”

“Only his jaw exploded. But yes, I suppose you could look at it like that.” He briefly pictured her in a swimsuit, sunning herself on the white sand of one of Thailand’s beaches. “Though given your proclivity for playing with ammonium chlorate, it’s entirely possible you’ll blow _yourself_ up.”

Jane snorted through her nose. “Oh, come on. I’m way too good to do that.”

“Well, _someone’s_ a little full of themselves,” he remarked mildly.

“Bullshit.” She was effortlessly and efficiently setting up the distillation apparatus as she spoke. “You know perfectly well I’m that good, or there’s no way you’d let me keep dicking around with explosives in your basement.”

She had a point there—she was more than competent. She was, in fact, fairly brilliant in her own right. There were times when he could see what bothered Brock so much, because she really was almost too good to be true. And so what if she _had_ been sent here by Impossible to do something nefarious? She hadn’t done it yet, had she? She’d had ample time to sabotage any number of things, but instead she was here helping him on a project. And that was a point he was quite certain on; she _was_ helping. So what did it really matter why she’d come here? What threat did Impossible pose these days, anyhow?

Jane shoved a tube of phosphates into his hand. “We need point-seven-five grams. I’ll get the solution started.”

After that she became so focused on the details and chemistry that the place probably _could_ have exploded without her so much as batting an eye. She only seemed to hear him when he was giving directions related to the project. That was alright, since even for someone with his level of intellect, it was a complex problem that required nearly all his attention. And Jane was excellent at taking direction. Well, unless she thought she had a better idea. But he began to listen to her when she did, because it turned out she was usually right. He was the creative genius, but he’d been out of the game too long. She, on the other hand, seemed to live and breath chemistry every day. Usually he’d bristle at someone presuming to give him advice on his own project, but for some reason it didn’t feel as though Jane was stepping on his toes.

He reflected again that they made a fairly exceptional team. She was _certainly_ a better lab partner than Werner had ever been, though admittedly that wasn’t saying much. Never work with nobility, they expected you to do all the dissections for them.

Rusty became so engrossed in combining and distilling and evaporating that time ceased to have any meaning. He was _excited_ to find the perfect formula for this. When had he last been excited for something down here? He always had to have his mind on profit—he _always_ had, ever since his father died. What project was going to make him enough to keep the whole compound running, or the growth chambers for the slugs powered, or the X1 fueled? And then when he did get creative it always went wrong somehow, like the Joy Can or G.U.A.R.D.O.

At some point in the night, Jane pulled out an unlabeled bottle of tablets. They could be anything from protein supplements to amphetamines, but he didn’t bother asking when she offered him one. If they were good enough for Jane, they were good enough for him. She asked if they were going to pull an all-nighter. He’d thought that went without saying at this point, but apparently, he had to reassure her that it didn’t mean she had to work her regular day shift as well. Hadn’t he made it clear yet that she could come and go whenever she liked?

Things finally lagged when they got to the intensive distillation process. Everything they’d worked on so far was in the distilling apparatus, so all they could do was sit around and wait for it to finish. Rusty finally took a look at his watch, surprised to find it was almost dawn. Jane was starting to fade; she leaned into the table, propping her chin in her hands, a blank expression on her face as she watched the solution drip. The vitality that had driven her all night was ebbing away now. She didn’t even know he was watching her. She looked…she looked different, somehow.

He must have stared at her for several minutes, his own mind beginning to lose focus as the night caught up to him, before it suddenly clicked in his brain. Lonely. That was how she looked. She looked lonely.

It would be trying, he supposed, to have to hide your real identity. He’d never had to do that—never been _able_ to do it, since he’d been thrust into the limelight when he was barely old enough to walk. How hard must it be, to spend her days thinking that she could never quite be herself, never let her guard down around anyone. No wonder she refused to admit they were dating. As far as she was aware, he had no idea who she really was.

Well. Now seemed as good a time as any to correct that.

He walked around the end of the table, coming to stand right next to her. She barely blinked when he bumped her elbow. It was tempting to wave a hand in front of her face, but instead he stared at the solution with her as he said mildly, “You know, I don’t care if you’re a plant.”

The effect was instantaneous. If she’d been on a lab stool, she would have fallen off it. As it was, she jerked away from him as though she’d been burned. “If I’m _what_?”

He smiled slightly and shrugged, hoping to reassure her. “A plant. A secret agent. A spy. You know.”

She put on a face of forced distain, still trying to maintain her façade. “What you would think that?”

Rusty shook his head, smiling fully now. Did she really think she could fool him? “Jane, Jane, Jane, Jane, Jane. I’m brilliant, remember?”

“I never said you weren’t,” she said, though her body language told a different story. She’d been utterly convinced that she had him fooled all this time. He almost felt sorry for her. “No, but you act like it,” he countered her smoothly. “When you first asked me for a job, I figured you just wanted to upgrade to something respectable. I was happy to…lend a hand.” He threw in a cheeky wink to relax her. It didn’t seem to help. “But you’re too good at this! You know _way_ too much real science to just be a sexy nobody.”

Jane gave an angry shrug, turning her head to avoid his gaze. “Sorry if I’m naturally talented.” Her voice had more acid in it than most of the chemicals they’d been using tonight. “I hate to break it to you, but it _is_ possible to have a talent for something without Jonas Venture forcing it down your throat from infancy.”

Perhaps, realizing how upset she was, he should have backed off. But she’d just fired unprovoked shots, and he responded automatically. “Hey, no need to get personal! I’m telling you I don’t _care_!”

“But I’m _not a plant_ ,” she declared so ferociously that he was tempted to believe her. “I work for nobody but myself.”

“Maybe,” he conceded. It was perfectly possible that she could be Impossible’s daughter and want to work at VenTech for reasons of her own. Maybe those reasons had something to do with him. To tell the truth, he hadn’t expected such a violent reaction from her, and her anger concerned him. “Maybe not.”

“Fine,” she spat out, dropping her hands from her hips and turning back to the apparatus. “Think what you like.”

Rusty waited patiently, suspecting that she wouldn’t be able to let the subject drop. Sure enough, after several minutes of angry silence, she turned her attention back to him.

“Why wouldn’t you care?” she asked, brows creasing in confusion. “That seems like something you should care about.”

Ah, now she was asking the right questions! “Because the Revenge Society is defunct, and Professor Impossible is a washed-up failure who hasn’t done anything since.” Quite frankly, he didn’t even know if Impossible was still in New York. He certainly hadn’t made any big splashes since escaping Gargantua 2. “I’m not scared of him,” he concluded truthfully. If he’d been scared of him, perhaps he’d have listened to Brock’s warnings about Jane. But there were much bigger, scarier things to worry about than an overconfident, has-been scientist with stretchy limbs.

Jane froze. Her eyes widened and he would have sworn she stopped breathing for half a moment there. Ah, now she _knew_ he knew. Jig’s up, missy. He smiled in satisfaction as she attempted to play damn. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said stiffly.

“Okay, fine, have it your way.” He shrugged as if it really made no difference to him one way or another. She knew now, that was what mattered. It might take her a while to acknowledge it, but she knew he had her number. She was upset about it right now, but with time she’d realize how much easier it made things.

Jane wiped down the table without speaking to him, even though it had already been cleaned after they started up the distillation process. She removed her goggles all the way, rubbing the sides of her heads. She examined every tube, flash, and dial as though the world depended on it, all without looking at him or saying a word. Much as he hated to have her angry at him, he found her commitment to avoiding any further discussion rather cute.

When she ran out of things to do, she came back to the table and stared at the solution, leaving plenty of space between them. It was condensing and dripping very slowly into a vial. Hardly gripping, even when considering what it would do if they’d gotten the formula right. At length she sighed heavily and turned, resting one arm on the table as she finally met his eyes.

“How long have you known?”

There it was! Acknowledgement. He patted her hand sympathetically. “Only a few weeks,” he assured her kindly. “I had Brock look into it once I saw the sort of projects you were coming up with.”

Anger flashed across her face again. “Well, I’m not working for him! I just wanted to get hired on my own fucking merits.”

“Your fucking merits, or your scientific ones?” he teased. She was exceptional in both. When she didn’t react to the joke, he elbowed her lightly. She glared at him and he backed off, holding his hands up to show he meant no harm. Why was she taking it _this_ badly? She ought to be laughing in relief! “Sorry, sorry. I just find it a little hard to believe that you went through all the trouble of a name change—” Or two or three. “—to get hired on your own merits.”

“I went through the trouble of a name change because I want nothing to do with my dad, okay? I haven’t seen him in _five years_.” She looked as though she might start crying, which bothered him much more than her anger had.

Rusty took the time to digest that statement for a moment. She certainly _seemed_ to be telling the truth. And it made sense. If she’d cut herself off completely from her father, that would explain why he’d never heard of her before, why she had to work at a nightclub, and why she wouldn’t capitalize on the family name. He wondered if Impossible had cut _her_ off, or the other way around. Either seemed perfectly possible, given what an insufferable ass that man was.

One thing was clear, though: Jane didn’t want to talk about it. She looked miserable. “Okay,” he said, because he wanted her to trust him.

“Okay, what?” she grumbled.

“Okay,” he repeated, deliberately looking at the distiller instead of her. “Whatever. I don’t really care anyway, so I guess I believe you.”

Seeing her evident relief almost made him feel guilty. Almost. It also made him feel like he had the upper hand in the relationship, which was somewhat pleasant. “Are you going to tell anyone?” she asked cautiously. “Or…do they already know, too?”

Poor delusional girl. “Of course they do.” He sighed, growing tired of repeating himself. “Nobody _cares_ , Jane.”

It must have finally registered for her that everyone had just been playing along with her charade all this time. “Oh,” she said in defeat.

He hadn’t realized quite how dedicated she was to keeping her identity hidden, that she hadn’t even had an inkling they’d been deceiving her all this time and not the other way around. That was…that was funny. A single chuckle snuck out of him, but once it had he didn’t bother to hold the rest back. It was just so ridiculous!

“You really thought this was some super big secret, didn’t you?” he asked her as he laughed. He was relieved to see that it made her angry again, rather than tearful. “You thought you were so smooth with your _secret identity_. That it was so important nobody find out!” He could understand not wanting to be associated with her father, but she was taking it a bit far. She had to see that! He covered his mouth, muting the laughter out of courtesy.

All that thoughtfulness got him was the evil eye from Jane. “I hate you.”

Oh she did _not_! She sounded just like Dean when he was going through that goth phase. “You hate me for _not_ caring that you got your job under false pretenses?” he asked with the aloof calm that had always driven Hank crazy. “You want me to fire you, then? Would that feel better?”

The fight went right out of her at that suggestion. “No,” she admitted, sulking.

“Okay then,” Rusty said brightly. “Go get out a new vial, this one’s almost full.”

She did, grateful for the excuse to change the subject. They spent the next half hour or so pretending the discussion had never happened, but she remained huffy and curt. Rusty’s brain considered that during the periods of stiff, awkward silence that followed, and it slowly dawned on him that he’d _injured_ her somehow. She must have really _wanted_ to remain anonymous, and he’d taken that from her. And laughed. He winced. How to rectify the situation?

There was only one practical solution in this case. “I’m…sorry,” he said stiffly, staring down into the microscope and adjusting the focus. “For laughing, I mean. I’m sure you had plenty of reasons for not wanting us to know, so…” He looked up from the microscope. She appeared to be very intent on the new slide she was making, but he thought she was listening.

He took a deep breath. “So…I’ll just go back to pretending I don’t. You’re trying to make a life out of your father’s shadow. That’s…” He took another breath. Why were these words so hard to find? “That’s something I never did,” he finished, which wasn’t quite what he’d wanted to say but was close enough. “I only brought it up so that you’d know you could let your guard down. You’re safe, I don’t care who you are, so just, I don’t know. Just relax.”

She sniffed and lifted her chin. “I’m plenty relaxed.”

He wasn’t going to dignify a lie that blatant with a response—so ignored it. “If it’s any consolation,” he offered instead, “you _were_ hired on your own merits.”

She sniffed again. “My fucking merits, or my scientific ones?” Her lips twitched upward on one side.

“I know better than to answer that,” he responded with dignity.

Jane snorted and grinned at him. “In that case, you really _are_ brilliant.”

“Obviously.” He winked.

They continued their efforts to make sure the first version of the solution would be safe to ingest. It wasn’t the most exciting work, and he must have dozed off at some point, because the next thing he knew his face was stuck to the lab table and his glasses were digging into the side of his face.

He straightened his glasses and looked around. Everything that needed to be cleaned up for the night—day, whatever—had been put away. Billy was doing something with the lab mice, and White was playing another video game.

“Honestly, can’t you do that at home on your _own_ power bill?” he demanded, startling both of them. “Where’s Jane?”

“It’s always Jane these days,” White drawled sarcastically. “How about a nice ‘How you doing, Pete?’ ‘Oh thanks, Rust, I’m a little under the weather but I made it in,’ ‘That’s great, I’m so glad you work here, Pete, I don’t know what I’d do without you,’ ‘Oh no no, it’s an honor to work with you!’”

Rusty raised his eyebrows and turned to Billy.

“She went home about an hour ago,” he answered immediately.

“Great.” Rusty ran a hand over his head. “I’m going to bed.”

* * *

“So where’s your not-exactly-a-car?” Jane asked, looking around the street for a motorcycle or something. Gary had surprised her by turning up at the club, and while she hadn’t intended to see him again, now that he was there it was difficult to say no. Especially when he was offering her a lift home. “I’ve been standing in heels for six hours, so…”

“Right here,” he told her, pointing his thumb over his shoulder.

The only thing behind him was the door they’d just left through. She stared at him. He grinned. He flapped his giant orange wings.

She blinked. “Those things actually _work_?”

“Yup.” He seemed proud of this fact and flapped a few more times, lifting his feet off the ground.

“Nice!” She took a minute to admire the mechanics of it. Robotics weren’t her specialty, but she knew enough to know that costume wings which could actually lift a man were no easy feat. “Wait. You’re saying _that’s_ your car.” Regular genius, that was Jane. So quick on the uptake. Gary nodded, and she blanched. “I wouldn’t know how to use them.”

“You don’t have to,” he assured her.

She blanched a little more. “There’s no way those things can lift your weight plus mine.”

“I have it on good authority they can carry up to five hundred pounds.” He put a hand on her arm, probably to reassure her. “Come on, it’ll be fun! Have you ever seen the city from up high?”

Yes. She’d been in the top floors of some of the tallest buildings. Where there were panes of unbreakable glass protecting her from the drop. “I don’t know about this.”

“Aw, come on.” This was the closest she’d seen him to sulking since she’d told him Smurfs couldn’t possibly be mammals. “I wouldn’t let anything happen to you. You can trust me!”

She let out a sigh that was only slightly shaky. “I do, but I just…I’d rather walk. It’s not that far to the station.”

“You don’t like heights?” he asked, showing concern.

She shrugged his hand off her shoulder. “No, heights are fine. I used to live in a fucking skyscraper, remember?”

“Then what are you worried about?”

“I’m not scared of _heights_ ,” she reiterated firmly. “But falling…that’s a little scary.”

“Oh, that’s alright then.” She could _hear_ the excitement in his voice. “We’re not going to fall.” He put his arms around her waist, turning her so that her back was flush against his chest, and tightened his arms over her midsection.

She realized what he was doing in time to fight it, and she almost jerked her elbow back into his stomach. But she didn’t. Because damn it all to hell, I _liked_ him.

She still shut her eyes as she felt her feet leave the ground. His wings flapped repeatedly as they rose—Jane could feel each gust of air as well as hear it. The way her feet were dangling in thin air was unnerving, but his arms felt warm and secure around her waist. She realized she was holding her breath, and let it out.

The wings were flapping a little less frequently now, and she could feel the wind on her even between beats. They were moving forward, not up. Her curiosity got the better of her, and she opened her eyes.

They must have been five hundred feet up. They were flying even with the tops of some towering buildings, but not above the tallest of them. Below her, the city was a beautiful array of glowing streets and lighted windows, populated by tiny vehicles. They were too high up to even see the people.

It was terrifying. She could imagine his hands slipping, her sliding through, the wind rushing around her as she raced toward the ground. She shuddered and closed her eyes again.

“Are you seeing this? This totally rocks!” His voice was right in her ear, audible over the wind around them.

“Yeah,” she managed to answer, “I saw.”

“You’re not gonna fall, okay?”

“You don’t know that. What if your hands slip?”

“Then I’ll dive down and catch you again.” He sighed, picking up on her lack of enjoyment. “Okay, hold on.”

A minute later there was solid ground under her feet again. She opened my eyes. They were on a rooftop. A normal, crappy, unpopulated rooftop, about ten stories up. The second Gary let go of her, Jane stagged a few steps away from the edge of the building and more or less collapsed into a sitting position, hugging her knees. She’d _told_ him she didn’t want to fly! She’d told him!

She rested her forehead on her knees, fighting down the panic from flying over the city in at the mercy of a guy in mechanical butterfly wings, nothing between her and a messy death except his grip. Not like she’d expected him to drop her on _purpose_ , but she would just as soon have kept both feet firmly on the ground. Heights were okay, if there was a wall or a nice thick window protecting you, but flying was not for her.

“Oh man, that was so cool,” Gary exclaimed, leaning right over the edge of the room excitedly. “You’ve got to watch next time!”

Next time? No way in hell. She tried to get her racing pulse back under control, pulling in several deep breaths through her nose.

“You can see the people from here,” called Gary happily.

No. No no no no no. She couldn’t do this. Not just the flying, which felt like some kind of metaphor for this whole stupid fling, but all of it. She didn’t like big feelings. Sure, some of the feelings that Gary gave her were _wonderful_ feelings, but they were still too big for her. Nope, couldn’t do it. _So, why’d you break up? Oh, I liked him too much._ Stupid.

She didn’t want to _be_ some stupid, starry-eyed, giddy girl in love. The big feelings, they weren’t worth it. Maybe they were for Gary—he was open like that, and kind, and innocent. But not for her. She couldn’t be that girl anymore. She wanted to be safe back on her own two feet with her heart safe and sound in her own chest.

“Jane?” Oh great, he’d noticed that she wasn’t enjoying this experience quite as much as him. She raised her head and gave him a weak smile. Having him worry about her made this so much worse. Because he was nice, and she was crazy about him, and she was going to have to break his heart.

Gary scooted back from the ledge, hurrying over to put an arm around her shoulder. “I didn’t know it was going to scare you _that_ much! Are you okay?”

She started to answer, but her throat was too tight. She shook her head.

“Crap,” Gary said, looking around as if the empty room might offer some kind of solution. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to— Anyway, listen, you think you can handle just another minute of flying? So I can get you down? We can walk from there, or take the train, or w—”

“I can’t do this,” she cut him off, the words unsticking themselves from her throat.

He stopped talking and stared at her. She was glad he had his mask on still. It made this feel less personal, somehow, if she didn’t have to see his eyes. Less personal was better.

“I—I like you, Gary,” she said, hating herself for showing signs of weakness. She should just tell him to fuck off, not give him her life story. “I like you a lot. But let’s be realistic here, us? It’s only going to end in disaster. You know that, right?”

“I don’t know anything,” he said stubbornly, but she could already hear the emotion cracking his voice. He knew it just as well as she did—they weren’t compatible. On so many levels.

“Right,” she said dismally. “No one _knows_. But it doesn’t take a genius to see how it’s going to play out, either. The Monarch finds out we’re dating. He keeps trying to exploit that—and us, _me_ —to get him into VenTech to fuck with Rusty. And I don’t want to do that, because he doesn’t deserve it, and because I love my job.”

“He hasn’t even paid you yet,” Gary argued. “Come work for us instead!”

There were a lot of objections, reasonable objections, that she could have made to that. For one example, that there was no way The Monarch had anything near the sort of lab she had at VenTech. For another, there was no way The Monarch would hire her, if he knew he could keep using her against Rusty. For a third, she was _tired_. Tired of fighting with herself, the same fight every day, the epic war between head and heart, desire and fear. Falling in love was exhausting, and she wanted no part of it.

All she said aloud, though, was “No.”

Gary stared at her. She saw his Adam’s apple bob up and down. “Just, no?” he asked after a moment.

“No,” she repeated more firmly. “I want to stay where I am.”

“Well…but…” He faltered, trying to find an argument to that. This was exactly why she hadn’t given him detailed reasons. “Maybe The Monarch won’t find out about us! I’ve been able to keep it a secret so far!”

Even with half his face covered, she closed her eyes rather than look at him. “No. It’s not going to work, and it’ll be a lot smarter of us to rip the band-aid off now than it’d be in three months—or six, or eight, or whenever it inevitably falls apart.”

“A lot could change in three months,” he pointed out softly. “It’s not fair for you to make the choice for whoever you’re going to be then. You don’t know it’s inevitable.”

“Yeah,” I said, opening my eyes and giving him a bitter smile. “I do.”

He couldn’t argue with that. “Come on, Jane, please!”

The bitterness faded from her smile, leaving only sorrow and emptiness. “It’ll be okay. You can do a lot better than me.”

“I don’t _want_ better than you! I want _you_!”

Her throat got awfully tight again, but she worked through it. “You hardly know me. I’m a hot mess, and whether you admit it or not, you’re a hero. You’re going to want to save me, and I don’t want to be saved.” She repeated her words from a minute before: “I _want_ to _stay_ where I _am_.”

“Stay on the roof, then,” he said angrily, standing up in a rush. “ _That’s_ where you are right now.”

She wanted to tell him that she was sorry, truly sorry, and that she was only doing this because she was scared, _terrified_ , of anyone making her feel like this. But if she was really honest with herself, that wasn’t the only reason. Just the main one. And if she apologized now, if she called after him, she was only going to undo everything she’d just done.

So she bit her tongue, and she watched him activate his wings and lift off, flapping them and jumping over the edge. He looked back once, and she pretended not to notice. She let out a long, shaky breath. It was done. She felt strangely hollow inside. Shouldn’t she feel sad? Or angry, that he’d left her ten stories up like this?

No, she couldn’t be angry with him for that. She knew she’d just broken his heart, and undoubtedly deserved it. She should have known better than to get mixed up with someone like that anyway, letting her emotions usurp her life.

She felt empty.

Jane waited five minutes or so to see if he’d come back. When he didn’t, she pulled out her phone and called the FDNY. She was freezing by the time they arrived to put up a ladder and escort her down to the ground, but her goosebumps and hard nipples were the only things she felt.

She blamed her predicament on a partially executed rescue from a superhero, and the firemen nodded in sympathy. At least she hadn’t lost her purse to the mugger, they said. She agreed and assured them she could safely get herself home now. She walked to the nearest station, still feeling not much of anything. She caught the train back to her usual stop and made it home without anything else remarkable happening. The outer door of her building slammed shut behind her, and she jumped a little at the sound. But she was still perfectly collected and stoic. She even paused to grab her mail on her way down to her apartment.

The top envelope had the VenTech logo in the corner. She locked her own door behind her and hit the lights, kicking off her shoes as she headed for her bed. She sat down, stretching out on her back, and ripped it open. Inside was a paycheck, for more than the amount she’d made at the club all month.

She didn’t know why, but for some reason that was the thing that made her burst into tears.


	7. Chapter 7

Something was the matter with Jane. Granted, he wasn’t much of a judge of her behavior in the mornings, since he rarely saw her before lunchtime. But she should have been excited when they agreed it was time to test what she’d dubbed “Project Alice” on a mouse, and instead she seemed distracted and distant. The dark circles under her eyes were a fair indicator, too, and she nearly bit Billy’s head off when he asked if she’d moved his petri dishes.

When Rusty tried to smile and ask how she was doing, she didn’t even bother to fake a smile when claiming she was fine. He wondered whether she was still upset from last night after all, and the idea irritated him. What else was he supposed to have done? It wasn’t _his_ fault she’d used a false identity the OSI could easily dismantle. _She’d_ come to _him,_ not the other way around. He’d only taken necessary precautions, and then told her the truth about it. Trying to say he liked her for who she was, gosh, yes, what a bastard he was.

And he’d really thought they’d straightened it all out before she left yesterday, that was what really stung.

At least her foul mood didn’t preclude them from selecting and weighing lab mouse 214, taking detailed notes, and replacing its water with their personal shrinking solution. She volunteered to supervise the mouse, if he wanted to go do something else. Since it hadn’t even touched the solution yet, he went upstairs for a bite of lunch. Hank had left a note that he and Brock were going out for a run, which was surprisingly thoughtful for Hank. Before last winter, he would have just gone off without a second thought.

After picking disinterestedly at some leftover chicken salad, he went out onto the patio to get some air. He wasn’t eager to admit it to himself, but he was avoiding Jane. Her temperament seemed unstable today, and he had no desire to let her vent her ire on _him_. Let her take it out on the mice, instead.

However, it was _his_ project, and he was too interested in the results to stay away all afternoon. He returned to the lab to find Jane cleaning the mouse’s cage out, her lip curled in displeasure. “What happened?” he asked, hurrying over to look for himself. She wouldn’t be cleaning out the cage unless…

“I already disposed of it,” she said flatly. “We’re going to have to modify the solution.”

He’d figured that much out on his own! “Yes, but what _happened_?” he snapped.

“It puked itself to death, okay?” she snarled back, scrubbing the cage angrily. “I watched it puke itself to death while you were upstairs jacking off or whatever you do up there.”

This was exactly why he hadn’t wanted to come back down. “You suggested I leave,” he pointed out icily. “And it’s not _my_ fault the mouse died.”

“Oh, really?” She straightened, putting her hands on her hips. “Whose is it, then? Because _you’re_ the genius behind the poison we just gave it.”

“ _You_ agreed with me that it was safe to start testing!”

“Right, make it my fault! Everything’s _my_ fault, isn’t it!”

What _everything_ was she talking about? Rusty crossed his arms, refusing to back down. “I don’t know. Is it?”

“Yes!” she said emphatically, and to his horror she sat down, put her face in her hands, and started crying. At least he _assumed_ she was crying, judging by her harsh, jerky breathing. White turned away from his computer bank to stare. Billy stopped searching through the filing cabinet, instead peeking around the side to witness this unprecedented event.

Er… Rusty looked around for help. It wasn’t so much that crying women were outside his area of expertise (though they were), but this sort of behavior was so uncharacteristic for Jane. She hadn’t even broken down like this after being abducted! Awkwardly, he patted her on the shoulder, and she angrily shrugged him off.

“Oh nice job, Rust, what’d you do?” White was awfully quick to assign blame.

“I didn’t do anything!” he protested. “She just…you saw her this morning! She’s been in a mood all day.”

“I can still _hear_ you,” Jane said thickly from behind her hands.

“Of course you can,” Rusty told her with false brightness. Again, he looked around for help. White held up his hands to indicate he wanted no part of this disaster. Billy had disappeared back behind the filing cabinet. “So why don’t you tell me what’s wrong?”

“I’m fine!” she insisted, in direct contradiction to the facts.

“Um.” How did he put this delicately? “You clearly are not.” She didn’t respond, and after a long wait he made a second attempt. “Is this about the mouse…?”

“ _No_ , it’s not about the mouse,” she said vehemently, dropping her hands enough to wipe at her cheeks. “Why would you think it was about the fucking _mouse_?”

Because that was what had triggered the outburst, obviously. Though she’d been upset even before the mouse. Perhaps he should have thought that through. He was glad it wasn’t the mouse, because lab mice met their ends fairly frequently down here—but that still meant he didn’t know what the problem _was_.

He cleared his throat nervously. “Is it about…what I said yesterday, then?”

“No. Get me a tissue.” Maybe she was calming down. She’d sounded almost collected just then. A tissue? They had plenty of cleaning supplies down here, but nothing you’d particularly want to blow your nose into.

“Here you go.” Billy emerged from his hiding place, pulling a white slip of fabric out of his breast pocket and holding it out as an offering.

Rusty glanced at it. “What’re you doing with an embroidered handkerchief in your pocket?”

“What? I always carry around a handkerchief! You never know when it can come in handy.”

Well, it had certainly come in handy right now. Rusty pressed it into Jane’s hand and tried not to grimace as she loudly blew her nose. After that, she lowered the tissue and her hands, letting them see that she’d stopped crying. She wiped at her face a little more and took a deep breath.

“I don’t think you want this back now,” she said, looking down at the handkerchief.

“That’s okay,” Billy lisped helpfully. “You can keep it.”

“I’ll treasure it always,” Jane returned with a straight face. She took another deep breath. “Really, I _am_ okay. I can’t believe I _cried_ at work. This is so embarrassing.”

“It’s okay,” White told her, evidently deciding it was safe to reengage. “Billy here does it all the time.”

“I do not!” Billy shot back.

“Oh yeah? How about that time when you thought—”

“That is _hardly_ all the time! One time! Once!”

“What’s really going on?” Rusty asked Jane in an undertone, leaving the two of them to bicker.

“Ugh, don’t look at me like that,” she said, turning her face away.

“Like what?’

“Like you feel _sorry_ for me,” she spat out. “I don’t want your pity!”

“Oh please. I don’t feel _sorry_ for you,” he told her, as though the idea were nonsense. Which, really, it was. “I just want to know why on earth our employee of the month is bursting into tears at the drop of a hat!”

“Employee of the month?” She raised an eyebrow, but she still looked tired.

“Who else?” He smiled and jerked his head to indicate White and Billy. “You don’t think I’m giving it to one of _those_ two, do you?”

Jane smiled weakly. “Is that why you finally decided to pay me?”

“Oh, did payroll get around to sending that out?” he asked airily, implying he’d had no idea she’d received a check. As though they actually _had_ a payroll department!

“Yes. You’ll have to thank them for me,” Jane answered with a sage nod. Then she sighed heavily and rubbed her face. “I just had a bad night. Don’t worry about me.”

In other words, don’t ask. Alright, he wouldn’t. But if he could get her to cheer up and get back to her usual self, that would be nice. And he had to say _something_.

“You know,” he said after raking his brain, “the offer still stands. If you’d feel safer here, or sleep better, focus better, whatever’s going on—that business last night doesn’t change anything.”

Her lip twitched, and not toward a smile. “Quit feeling sorry for me.”

“I don’t!” he declared at once, surprised that she’d thought so. “I thought it was a fairly transparent effort to get you into my bedroom again.” He rested a hand on her shoulder again, conveying something entirely different than sympathy. “It’s been a while, you know.”

“Since you subjected me to terrible showtunes? Yes, I suppose it has.”

 _There_ was his regular Jane! “Is that what we’re calling it now?” he inquired, smiling slyly as he caressed her shoulder with his thumb.

“I’m serious, I will never recover from exposure to that awful song.” She was seeming more herself by the minute!

“I didn’t even play it last time,” he pointed out.

“Doesn’t matter. It’s ingrained now.” She shoved the handkerchief into the depths of her lab coat and rolled her shoulders. “And given that first attempt resulted in more puke than you’d think a mouse could possibly hold inside it, we need to reevaluate where we went wrong and start on Alice 2.0.”

“Now you’re talking!” He trailed her back to the table where they’d left all their notes. “What color was the vomit?”

“Seriously?”

“Obviously. It might help us isolate the offending component.”

“Brown. The same color as their food.”

“There, see, that tells us it wasn’t bleeding internally.” Rusty ran his finger thoughtfully down the long list of components they’d used, trying to recall which ones could have such a dramatic effect. They’d already tested for toxicity, so it must be something that just reacted poorly to the mouse’s biology. Maybe they should get Billy over here.

“Let me see,” Jane demanded, nudging him out of the way so she could see the list as well. She continued to act like herself the rest of the day, so he assumed she’d gotten whatever was bothering her out of her system. She stayed a few minutes past five so she could finish a discussion with him on the half-life of cadmium, and seemed fairly upbeat as she ran off to catch her train home.

It was only later that night, after she’d left, that he realized she’d never given him an answer about his offer.

* * *

She made it through work alright—both at VenTech, where after a brief moment of weakness it wasn’t too difficult—and at the club, where it was more of a challenge to keep the happy face pasted on. But she made it.

Then on the ride home, she started feeling shitty again. She was exhausted, but she couldn’t sleep. She’d lie there trying to focus on reasonable things, like what to do with a minor monetary windfall, or which project she wanted to pursue once her help wasn’t needed on Alice anymore. And then out of the blue she’d just start sobbing. It sucked. It fucking _sucked_.

And see, she told herself, this is why you dumped him _now_. This way, you’ll be over it in a few days. A few days of misery was a small price to pay for protecting her heart.

Then the fear would seep in: what if this happened again? What if, a year or two from now, some other guy turned up who made her feel those big, dangerous feelings, and she wasn’t strong enough or smart enough to send him packing? What if she got wrapped up in the good parts of falling in love, and forgot about all the bad ones till it was too late?

She couldn’t trust herself, that was the trouble. Maybe she could try celibacy. She’d gotten her annual clean bill of health from the gyno, seemed like as good a time as any. And you can’t get wrapped in up a guy if you’re never intimate, right? But that plan was even dumber than staying on the current course, and she knew it. She wouldn’t make it six months before the lack of sex made her crazy and desperate. If she held out like that, she’d probably fall for the first guy who gave her a decent orgasm once horniness finally got the best of her.

What she really needed, she decided a little while before dawn, listening to the disco music from the unit above her, was a friend. Someone who knew her and could tell her when she was being stupid. Someone who would remind her of who she was and snap her out of it. Someone she enjoyed being around but wasn’t attracted to.

Which, since she’d fuck just about anything with the right equipment, meant a woman, right? The trouble with that was that women didn’t like her. She was either too abrasive, too standoffish, or too willing to flirt with their boyfriends. Maybe it was because she’d had no experience with women while growing up, thanks to her mom bailing when she was three. Maybe she just didn’t know how to relate to people without sleeping with them. Maybe she was just an awful bitch who no one really liked, and someone wanting to be friends with her was too much to ask.

That thought triggered another bought of angry tears, which only made her angrier at herself. She _hated_ self-pity. She might be prickly, and easy, and arrogant, and nerdy, and lonely—but she was better than self-pity, damn it!

At least she knew she’d made the right choice. Hurting Gary had sucked, and hurting herself had sucked more, but this was the only smart thing to do. He would have been devastated if, a few months into a passionate love affair, he realized that her job meant more to her than he did. And if that didn’t destroy them, well, something else would. The last guy who’d made her feel like this had wound up dead, and if history repeated itself she wasn’t sure how she’d survive the fallout.

Love. Was. Dangerous. That was the moral to take away here. If she didn’t care about anyone, she wouldn’t get hurt, and if she didn’t get hurt, she could go on not needing anyone, and if she didn’t need anyone, then no one would get close enough for her to start caring about them.

The upstairs neighbors must be dancing to their disco music now. They must be _bad_ dancers, too. It sounded like a pack of wild horses running through up there. Not like she would have fallen asleep anyhow. Hopefully they were enjoying themselves, that would mean at least someone was.

If it hadn’t been so close to morning, she’d have taken a sleep aid. Too late now, though, unless she wanted to call in to work sick. Which she emphatically did _not_ , because she wanted to see what happened with Project Alice. Science was better than sleep. She got out of bed and did some yoga to help herself wake up properly. It was still too early to go to work, so she pulled on some clothes, put in her headphones, tucked a marble-sized explosive into her waistband, and went for a jog.

You could tell it was May now. Even the mornings were starting to get warmer, and even in her crappy neighborhood lots of people had pots of flowers in their windows. She liked the brightness of it. She’d always liked bright colors—that was one thing her mother had left her, she guessed, because in every picture Jane had she was wearing bright floral prints. Or maybe her fondness for color was nothing to do with her mom, and everything to do with growing up in her father’s ivory tower, where everything was stark lines and black and white…and sometimes purple, for some reason he seemed to like purple.

The penthouse at VenTech popped into her head, probably because it was such a direct contrast to her childhood home. Sunlight everywhere, splashes of primary colors, funky patterns on the carpet, empty glasses left sitting on tables without coasters. That was the way she’d decorate, if she ever bothered decorating a place. Sterile, windowless rooms in neutral tones were great for doing science. And she loved science, she loved the lab. But you couldn’t _live_ there.

Live there… She thought about what Rusty had said yesterday. _The offer still stands_. In some ways it might not be the worst idea. Or maybe it would. It probably would. But she could quit working at the club. And lab access whenever she wanted. And no disco-loving neighbors. And no, absolutely not, she was crazy even considering it.

Wasn’t she?

* * *

“Guys! Holy shit!” Jane’s voice was sharp with excitement. Rusty dropped what he was doing, fairly sprinting the short distance between them. She was holding a notebook with one hand while the other hovered protectively over a white lab mouse that was sniffing at the edge of a scale. The numbers on the scale adjusted and readjusted themselves as the mouse moved around, though it was only a matter of a few milligrams either way. As Billy was hurrying over to see what the fuss was about, Jane handed the notebook to Rusty.

He glanced over the figures, excitement building in him. 11:00, that was the time they’d dosed one of the mice today. 20.4 grams. 11:15, 20.3 grams. 11:30, 20.4 grams—it had gone back _up_ slightly, suggested the previous weight had been due to error. 11:45, 20.4. 12:00, 20.3. She’d kept a precise list in neat little columns, going all the way through till now. He’d noticed her going back and forth between the scale, of course, but the repetitiveness of it had lulled him into thinking nothing was going to happen.

But she’d shouted for him, and she was practically bouncing on the balls of her feet as she waited for him to look at the numbers on the scale. So he looked.

16.8. “I’ll be damned,” he murmured, almost too stunned to react. He’d known it would work, certainly, but actually _seeing_ it—! The mouse tried to jump off the scale, and Jane deftly caught it and deposited it back in the center of the scale. It still looked like an adult mouse, but he trusted her work enough to believe this was the same one she’d been weighing.

The scale dropped to 16.7.

“No way,” Billy said in tones of hushed wonder. White leaned over his shoulder to get a better look.

The scale dropped to 16.6.

Jane turned, still bouncing on her toes and breathless with excitement, grinning from ear to ear. “We need it to work _faster_ , clearly,” she said, but the glowing triumph on her face said what she really meant. Victory.

He didn’t stop to think what he was doing, acting instead on pure animal instinct. They’d done it, he was a genius, she was happy, he was happy, she was beautiful, the mood demanded some sort of action. He wrapped his arms around Jane, pulling her into not just a kiss, but a dip. She hung onto his shoulders, kissing him back wholeheartedly, and exhilaration crackled between them like electricity.

They continued to smile at each other when he stood back up and let her go, nearly drunk on the triumph of their accomplishment. He’d completely forgotten White and Billy were even there, nothing else mattered right now except that mouse.

The mouse which was currently making a mad dash for the edge of the table. It jumped down just as he and Jane both reached for it, somehow surviving the fall and streaking off across the floor.

“Shit!” Billy said, pointing at it just as it vanished beneath a cupboard of tools. Jane immediately dropped to her knees, crawling around the edge of the cupboard and peering under it, trying to see into its dark recesses. Rusty thought to hit the flashlight in his watch before following suit, but it was no good. The mouse had probably gotten out through a hole and run off in search of a better hiding spot.

Billy went around the other side of the cupboard to look. “I don’t get it,” White commented, standing around uselessly, “Can’t you just give the same thing to another mouse? You’ve got plenty of the stuff.”

“Well, first, it’s a _mouse_ , White.” He’d thought the lab was clean, but the dust bunnies trying to cling to his beard and collar said otherwise. That’s what he got for firing the bulk of the cleaning staff, he supposed. He thought he saw movement, but it was only a shadow from his flashlight. “It’ll chew things,” he went on, since White apparently needed this spelled out. “One nibble and half the building’s without power.”

White was unimpressed by the argument. “Yeah, but if it keeps shrinking, its teeth won’t be big enough to make a dent!”

“And if it keeps shrinking,” Billy said, crawling over to the filing cabinet to look between the cracks, “we’ll never find it and know how small it gets. It could wind up infinitesimal!”

Even through his irritation at losing the specimen, that idea sent a small thrill through him. Infinitesimal! Thanks to _him_! An intoxicating thought. “We’d have to wait hours for the next mouse to start showing the same signs of shrinking,” he pointed out, heading to the computer bank to see if the mouse had made it that far.

“But you could do it,” White argued.

What, did he think they _liked_ crawling around in the dust, or had formed some kind of emotional attachment to his particular mouse? “Yes, yes, but it’ll be so much better to catch this one!”

“Okay, sure,” White shrugged, completely unconcerned. “Well, good luck with that.” He proceeded to sit back down in his office chair, spinning around and checking the internet. “Hey Billy,” he said a moment later, laughing, “come check out this skateboarder!” Crawling around in the filth right near his feet, Rusty ground his teeth. That man was truly infuriating sometimes!

From somewhere behind him, he heard Jane sigh and stand up. “You guys keep looking. I’ll get started on dosing another mouse as a back-up plan.”

He could see the sense in that, but wished he’d been the one to suggest it first. Now Jane got to dust herself off and do real science while he was stuck crawling around by White’s feet. He was about to point out that this was a _trifle_ unfair when Billy shouted that he’d seen the mouse running along the wall. And because he really did want to recapture the damn thing, he rushed over there to look.

It conveniently vanished again before they got within range, and just when he was ready to give up again he’d think he’d seen a flash of white, or a convenient hiding spot. When his knees started to hurt, he declared that the mouse had probably shrunk to the size where they’d never find it, and proceeded to see how Jane was coming along with the next test subject. She already had a new chart drawn out in her notebook, with several entries of unchanged weights. This one was just over 20 grams.

Having given up on the first mouse, there was nothing to do but sit around, do regular checks on this one’s weight, and complain pointedly about how much havoc all that searching was going to wreak on his back.

“Aw, poor baby.” Jane jutted out her lower lip in mock sympathy. He shot her a dirty look while trying to massage his own shoulders, hoping she’d take the hint. She did not. On the contrary, she looked highly entertained. “Tell you what,” she offered when watching him suffer had apparently grown old, “there’s no point in all of us sitting around watching one mouse. Why don’t you take over the subject supervision here? I’ll go putter around with my explosives.”

“How’s that supposed to help my back?”

Jane lifted one shoulder in a careless shrug. “It’ll take your mind off the pain.”

“Excuse me, I seem to recall giving you a half-hour foot massage!”

“After hours, Rusty,” she reminded him with barely suppressed amusement, tapping her temple with her index finger. “You already broke that rule once today and look where it got us.”

Yes, yes, he shouldn’t have kissed her in front of White and Billy. Or at least not for so long that the mouse got away. However, he wasn’t hearing an outright _no_ , either. “Oh, so after work you’re going to come up with a bottle of massage oil?”

She shook her head. “I have a shift at the club tonight. What do you need me for anyway, you have your own private jacuzzi!”

Not so private anymore, Hank had become enamored with it the past few days. Not to mention that having Jane as a massage therapist sounded quite a bit more fun than sitting in hot water by himself. “Are you ever going to quit that second job?” he asked her. “I’m giving you a healthy salary now, you can’t pretend you need it.”

“Wait a minute, Jane got a raise already?” Suddenly White was all ears. Typical.

“No,” Jane scoffed, “Jane got paid _one time_. And given how long it took, I think I’ll wait till I have a few more in the bank before I give up my night job.”

“Good idea,” White told her. Rusty glared at him.

“Three minutes till you need to weight him,” Jane reminded him pointedly, and headed off to her preferred work area.

They weren’t expecting any results for at least another hour, which made the weighing just a smidge anticlimactic. Maybe he should start work on the other half of this project, figuring out how to flip the formula so that it induced growth. Or perhaps he should consider how to make this one work faster. A more concentrated dose might do it, but it could also result in adverse effects on the test subject. He alternated his time between watching Jane measure chemicals, pondering the next step for Project Alice, listening to the music White pulled up on one of his computers, and checking the weight of the mouse.

Around four o’clock, he started getting results. Of the course of half an hour, the second mouse dropped sharply from 20 grams to 17. By five o’clock, it was almost down to 13. Everyone had forgotten about the other things they’d been working on and hung around watching the mouse. “ _Just_ when it’s getting exciting, I have to get going,” Jane grumbled. “Perfect.”

He could have reiterated that she didn’t _have_ to leave, if she’d quit her second job and take him up on his generous offer. He almost did. But it was perfectly obvious that she didn’t want to do that, and he had learned by now that when Jane didn’t want to do something, she wasn’t going to do it, full stop. He wouldn’t grovel.

And yet, despite her comment, she made no move to gather her things and leave. Instead, she leaned over the table, resting her head on her arms and staring intently at the mouse in its cage. “We’re going to need a better way to contain it,” she remarked. “I wouldn’t put it passed it to go right through the wires at the top if it gets much smaller.”

White pushed his chair over to take a look. “Oh come on, no way it’ll be able to jump that high if it keeps shrinking!”

“Think again,” Billy told him. “Mice are excellent jumpers.” He turned his attention to Jane. “You’ll want to switch to a breathable fabric.”

She grimaced. “How are we going to stop it crawling under the edges of the fabric?”

“Duct tape,” Rusty suggested immediately. They all stared at him, as though this were a bizarre suggestion. “What? Just because it’s not fancy equipment doesn’t mean it won’t do the job. You know how many times I’ve used duct tape in a pinch?”

“It _is_ tight,” Jane admitted. “It’s not professional, but who gives a fuck as long as it keeps the mouse secure. We can think of something better in the morning.”

“Couldn’t it chew through breathable fabric?” Billy asked suddenly, seemingly forgetting that the fabric had been his idea in the first place.

“Well you’ve got to use _something_ with airflow,” Jane pointed out, pinching the bridge of her nose. “If it asphyxiates at that size, no way we’ll ever be able to tell if the cause of death was an airflow issue or the serum.”

“Gee, you’d think a bunch of scientists who can shrink a mouse would be able to think up a safe way to keep it contained,” White remarked dryly.

“Fabric, wire mesh, duct tape, more fabric,” Rusty said decisively. Having a quick solution had suddenly become a matter of pride.

He caught that wonderful look on Jane’s face again—admiration. “That’s perfect,” she told him happily before massaging her temples. “Sorry I can’t stay and help.” She stifled a yawn. “But I trust you to take care of it.”

This time she really did collect her things and head out. Billy shook his head once the elevator door had closed. “She’s going to burn herself out if she doesn’t cut back soon. Do you ever worry about her?”

“Honestly, Billy?” Rusty said, feeling rather weary himself. “I’m not sure I ever stop.”

* * *

It wasn’t as though she _liked_ working as a cocktail waitress as a costume-themed club. It wasn’t mentally stimulating, she had to deal with asshole guests, most of her coworkers sucked, and it was more time than she enjoyed spending in high heels. And all her hours there were time that she could spend doing better things.

But…money. Kind of a necessity.

It was especially hard to make herself go tonight, though. Having to leave just when things were getting so exciting with the project was a real bitch. And speaking of bitches, here came Jasmine.

At first they ignored each other, which was how Jane liked it. She focused on pulling on her skintight black cat outfit and cramming her feet into a matching set of black stilettos without acknowledging that there was anyone else in the locker room. Who else was working tonight? She looked at the schedule, hoping to see the names of at least a few competent servers who didn’t loathe her. Shaundra had already clocked in, so that was alright—but it meant she better finish her make-up and get out there, too.

Jane sat down in front of the mirror, and Jasmine plonked her ass down right next to her on the bench. “So,” she asked, leaning in confidentially as if they were friends. “Who was that guy you literally swept you off your feet the other night?”

Ah yes, Jasmine’s special bitch power—magically sniffing out the most sensitive subjects that you least wanted to discuss with her and refusing to leave it alone. She did _not_ want to talk about Gary. It was still too raw. “Oh, that guy?” she tried to sound unconcerned. “He was just giving me a lift home.”

Jasmine made a disbelieving _hm_ sound but paused for just long enough that Jane thought she might have dropped the subject. Then she picked it back up. “So…he was just some random guy who waited for you to get off your shift, walked out of here with you, and then flapped some giant wings and carried you off into the night?”

The level of detail there startled a response out of her. “Are you fucking _stalking_ me? Get a life!”

Jasmine’s smile was nauseatingly sweet. “I just _happened_ to notice. I was leaving at the same time! So is he some kind of superhero, or what?”

“No,” she answered sharply, nearly biting off the word.

“Oooh, a villain? I hear they make better money. Is that true?”

“I wouldn’t know,” she said through clenched teeth.

Jasmine gave her a look that clearly said she didn’t believe her. “Then he’s _not_ your boyfriend?”

 _None of your fucking business._ “Why do you care?” Why was she even still responding to her? The best way to deal with Jasmine was to ignore her barbs completely. She would have remembered that if she wasn’t so exhausted.

“Oh, I’m just curious about what sort of man would date you, knowing what you are.” Jasmine made her eyes wide and innocent, mocking her.

“And what I am?” she snapped, again forgetting not to respond. Damn it.

Jasmine laughed cruelly. “Oh, don’t get me started! You want the whole list?”

Jane’s hands balled into fists as she pictured blowing Jasmine into tiny bloody bits. “For the last time, I didn’t know he was your boyfriend! It was last year! Let it go!”

“You think it’s just that easy? Let it go? Have you ever lost someone you loved?” She dropped the sweet demeanor and glared. “Oh wait, of course not, you’ve probably never cared about anyone in your life!”

Ha, she wished! If that were true, her life would have been much easier. “You don’t know me,” Jane told her, regaining some of her composure.

“I know enough to know you’re a heartless bitch,” Jasmine retorted, “who doesn’t give a damn about anyone but yourself.”

“I didn’t _know_!” For fuck’s sake, how did she not get that?

“That’s not the point! He left me two weeks after that!”

“In that case it sounds to me like he was already looking for the door anyhow. Quit blaming me when you drove him off yourself.”

For a second, she thought Jasmine was going to slap her. That would have been nice. Jasmine had just dug up a lot of the bad feelings she’d been trying so hard to squash down the past few days, and she would have relished the chance to kick her ass.

Instead, the other woman lifted her chin, sniffed, and looked the other way. “I need to get out there. By the way, you need _way_ more make-up. You look like you haven’t slept in days. Which is too bad, because looks are the only thing you have going for you. Once your giant ladybug or whatever realizes what you’re like underneath, he’ll drop you like a hot potato.” She paused just before pushing the door, looked back with naked hatred, and added “And I hope when he does, he does it from two hundred feet up.”

It would have been great if she could brush all that off as just a mean girl carrying a pathetic grudge, but there was a nasty ring of truth to some of the things she’d said, and they stuck to Jane like a coating of spilled beer. It just fed into what she’d been feeling in bed in the wee hours of the morning: that only two people in her life had ever really loved her, one of those people was dead, and she’d ditched the other one because she was scared. That was what it amounted to.

And it wasn’t only that. Jasmine had been telling the truth about her looking tired, too. Even with make-up it was showing through. She was working two jobs, working out, stressed, and the sleep she managed to get was interrupted by disco music and nightmares. The guests at her tables noticed it, too, at least if the size of her tips was any indicator. And Shaundra paused to ask her if she was feeling alright.

After all that, she should have gone straight home and collapsed into her bed, but instead she missed her stop on the train home. Maybe it was intentional. She wasn’t thinking clearly and couldn’t say for sure. At any rate, she wound up on the sidewalk walking in the wrong direction, and her feet brought her right to the front doors of VenTech.

* * *

It had been a long night. Billy and White had lost interest and headed out only a few hours after Jane left, and after all, this was _his_ project. When he was having that burst of inspiration last week, he hadn’t stopped to think that it would result in him spending half his night sitting in the lab alone and weight a mouse over and over again. The cup of coffee Hatred brought him, coupled with the fact that the mouse’s weight decreased each time he put it on the scale, kept him going. (The coffee kept him going in another sense as well—it always wreaked havoc on his intestines, but there was nothing quite like caffeine for staying awake. Well, nothing besides amphetamines, anyway, and he’d run out of those some time ago.)

Around midnight the shrinking started to slow down. By that time the mouse was about the size of a large housefly, and he was having difficulty even removing it from its cage without injuring it. Around 12:45, seeing a mouse that small still held some element of wonder. By 1:30 he was trying to grab it out of the cage with a pair of tweezers and silently cursing. At 2:00 he reaffixed the new lid with fresh duct tape and decided to call it a night.

Even Brock had already turned in for the night when he got back up to the penthouse. He was in the process of pulling on a pair of blue silk pajamas when Hatred’s voice came through the speaker. “You got a visitor, Doc.”

“At this hour?” No one respectable would turn up at two in the morning. It was probably some new plot of Malcom’s. Just what he needed right now. “Did you let Brock know?”

“You want me to let Brock know?” Hatred sounded confounded by the concept.

“Yes! Why wouldn’t I—” He stopped, feeling very martyred, and asked “Alright, who is it and what do they want?”

“Jane. She said she wanted to check on the experiment. I told her you’d just gone up.”

Jane! In the middle of the night? He was suddenly glad that Hatred hadn’t woken Brock. “Then she’s down there in the lab now?” Rusty reached for his robe.

“No, she’s on her way to the penthouse right now. She—”

“Thanks, Hatred!” he cut him off, ending the call and wondering if he had time to brush his teeth before she arrived. Probably not, unless he wanted to risk her knocking over vases in the dark like his sons. He hurried out of his room, hitting the lights in the living room and making into the hall by the elevator just as its door slid open.

Quickly, he leaned against the wall with an arm above him as if he were perfectly relaxed and suave. Which he was. Naturally. “Well _hello,_ Jane,” he crooned, lifting his eyebrows suggestively. “Here a little _late,_ aren’t we?”

She gave him a washed-out smile. “I’m here to check on the mouse.”

How unlike her. Usually she was so direct about what she wanted, and he was only too happy to give it to her. Why the transparent lie? “Ohhhh, the _experiment_.” He winked, letting her know that he was onto her little game. “The mouse is still in the lab, but I think you _know_ that.” He started back through the living room, trusting her to follow. “Sure, I’ll tell you all about it. Here, make yourself comfortable.” He gestured grandly to the sofa, but gave her a very significant look as he did so. “Unless you think you’d be more comfortable…somewhere else?”

She barely even acknowledged it, dropping onto the sofa and reclining back into the cushions. “Sure. Whatever. This is fine.”

“Is it, though?” He sat down beside her, testing the waters by moving his fingers over her thigh. She didn’t respond at all. “You look…” He’d been going to say she looked like she needed a healthy dose of Venture, but he broke off when he got a good look at her face. The shadows in the hallway had been kind to her. Here in better lighting, she looked tired and worn. “You look terrible!” he blurted out in concern.

“Thanks,” she responded, barely bothering to put her typical dose of sarcasm into the word.

She hadn’t come here for sex, and he didn’t think she’d come here about the mouse, either. So why _had_ she turned up at his door in the middle of the night? “What are you really doing here so late?”

“Honestly, Rusty?” Jane met his eyes, and the look in them wasn’t composed, or focused, or mischievous. She looked quietly desperate. “I have no idea.”

He could have said a lot of things in that moment. Most of them, he knew instinctively, would have been wrong. This was the closest she’d ever come to admitting she _needed_ help—and she’d come here. There was definitely something satisfying about that. But how was he supposed to help when even _she_ didn’t know what she wanted?

In the end, when he opened his mouth, he just told her about Project Alice. He let her sit there in a pile of sofa pillows with her eyes closed, and he told her everything that had happened in the lab since she’d left that evening. She asked questions occasionally, without moving or opening her eyes. When he got to the final weight on the mouse, however, her eyes flew open and she sat forward.

“ _Point_ six? That’s…” He could almost see the math going through her head. “That’s incredible! If it works on humans, it’d take someone like you down to the size of a Pomeranian!”

Rusty blinked, not sure he liked imaging himself the size of someone’s pet dog. Oh well, they’d test it out on someone else, a hired test subject possibly, not either of _them_.

His reaction must have entertained her, because she gave him a slight but genuine smile. “Well? Is that small enough for Alice to get through the door?”

He’d already considered that, while he was all alone in the lab for five hours. “Technically yes, but I was shooting for more, weren’t you?” He’d been envisioning the formula making a person the _size_ of a mouse, and they weren’t quite there yet. “What do you think doubling the concentration would do?”

She raised her eyebrows. “Wow, you’re going straight to doubling it? Where are you planning on keeping all these microscopic mice?”

Alright, so maybe double was overkill, but he wasn’t going to admit it and look like an idiot. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll think of something,” he told her instead. “Something brilliant and sophisticated that doesn’t require duct tape.”

Jane narrowed her eyes. “Are you _mocking_ me?”

He leaned back confidently, extending his arms along the back of the sofa. “What if I am, hm?”

She pushed herself to her feet. “That’s it, I’m going down there right now to get started.”

“On what?” He hadn’t expected this reaction!

“On my magical sophisticated mouse cage, obvious—” An expansive yawn snuck up on her. “Obviously.”

Right, he was shutting _that_ down. “You are in no condition to be doing science right now, little miss,” he scolded her, standing up and putting an arm around her back. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing here, but you need some sleep.”

“Can’t sleep,” she objected without any force, shaking her head like a drowsy child. “I’m so tired, but I can’t sleep.”

“Of course you can,” he said encouragingly, guiding her through the living room and toward the stairs. “The experiment’s not going anywhere, and it’s the middle of the night.”

She yawned again. “Uh-uh. I don’t do sleepovers. Lemme get back to my place.”

Not that she saw it, but he gave her a doubtful once-over. “You’re in no condition to be going anywhere. I insist.”

Briefly, it seemed like she was going to raise another objection. Instead, she shook her head as though she was trying to clear it. “Kay.”

He got her up the stairs and into his bedroom, where she started stripping off her clothes before he’d even finished shutting the door. It gave him a moment to get excited—before she proceeded to flop face down onto his bed in nothing but a pair of red cotton underpants. He watched for a minute, but she didn’t move.

“Jane?” he asked cautiously, resting a hand on her back.

“Mmph,” she said, weakly shrugging him off.

Right.

The spot she’d chosen to pass out was right in the middle of the mattress and on top of the covers, but he managed to tug enough of the sheets to cover him when he crawled in on one side. _He_ usually slept right in the middle. He glanced at her resentfully for interrupting his night, taking over his bed, and giving nothing in return.

But she was already fast asleep, features smoothed out, breathing even, and his irritation faded away when he looked at her like that. She’d come to him. Whatever she’d needed, whatever was wrong with her, she’d come to _him_. And maybe that was worth sacrificing the center of his bed.

* * *

Sometime before dawn, Jane woke up. It took a few seconds to orient herself and remember where she was and how she’d gotten there. The penthouse. Why had she come here? She still couldn’t really say. But Rusty was asleep a little ways away from her, and she had no memory of him trying to seduce her. What was this, some bizarro universe?

She was cold. Probably because she was still on top of the covers. Quietly, she slid off of the giant bed and crept back in on the other side, this time with silk sheets and blankets on top of her. It felt weird. Not the sheets, those felt incredible. But sharing a bed with someone. He was snoring faintly. Ugh, this was weird.

Curling up on her side, she pulled the sheets tight around her and left as much space between them as possible. What was she even doing? She should get out of here. Sleeping by another person made her feel unpleasantly vulnerable.

But the sheets were _really_ comfortable, especially now that they were soaking up her body heat. And the soft, rhythmic sound of Rusty’s breathing lulled her back into drowsiness. Besides, it’d probably be morning soon. There wasn’t much point in heading home just to come back here in a few hours. The idea of just rolling out of bed and heading straight down to the lab was pretty enticing.

Gradually, she slipped back into sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

Jane never officially accepted his offer. The following day when he woke up to see both her and her clothes absent, he assumed she was already in the lab—so he was incredibly surprised when he came down for breakfast and found her sitting on the living room sofa with a cup of coffee and his newspaper.

“Since when do you drink coffee?” he demanded, temporarily forgetting he’d been on the way into the kitchen.

She shrugged and took a sip. “You don’t have any protein shakes, I couldn’t find your blender, and I used up the last of my supplements the other night. I needed to wake myself up _somehow_.” She paused and flipped to the next page of the paper before adding, “I left some for you.”

Not quite knowing what else to do, he went on into the kitchen. H.E.L.P.eR. was there, sulking. Rusty went straight for the coffee pot. “Where is everyone?” H.E.L.P.eR. didn’t answer the question at all, complaining instead about Jane walking around like she owned the place. “Yes alright, _alright_ ,” Rusty finally had to say, flapping his hands to shut the robot up, “but what about Brock? Hank?”

Hank was still asleep, which came as no surprise. That boy really needed to find himself a new job. He’d better not be planning on freeloading here all summer. It needn’t be a career choice, just something temporary that made him a productive member of society and got him out of the house.

Brock was in the shower, having already gotten up early to work out. Typical. That meant he’d probably be down soon. The thought of both of them coming down to find Jane sipping coffee with him on the sofa made smile. No need for _them_ to know she’d done nothing but sleep.

Returning to the living room with his coffee, he sat down on the sofa next to her. She shifted her feet deftly out of the way, tucking them under her without spilling a drop from her cup. “Done with the front page?” he asked blandly. She shook it off and passed it to him. “Thanks.” She nodded and took another sip of her coffee. “Feeling better today?” he pressed.

“I need my own room,” she said evenly, setting down her portion of the paper and looking at him.

He blinked. Several times. Jane lifted her eyebrows austerely. “There _is_ a spare room, right? I need my own space to sleep.”

“Uh,” said Rusty eloquently, thinking fast. He’d expected more _warning_ if she ever decided to accept! Could he give her Dean’s room? No, he’d be done with his semester in a few weeks now, and he wouldn’t want to share with Hank. The office at the end of the hall, the one they only used for storage, that might work. Once he figured out where to move put all the junk that was currently in there. “Of _course_ there’s a spare room,” he assured her with a wide smile. “I just don’t have it set up yet. You hadn’t indicated you—”

“Well that’s a relief!” she cut him off with a grin. She did look much more like herself than she had last night. “How about a bathroom?”

“There’s one across from it, but you’ll have to share it with Brock and the boys.”

“The boys?” Her brows creased, then shot up. “Shit, I forgot you had kids. I thought they’d moved out already!”

“They’re coming back for the summer,” he explained, hoping fervently that this didn’t cause her to change her mind about staying. “They’re only nineteen.”

Jane made a face. “You’re telling me I have to share a bathroom with a couple of teenage boys?”

“And Brock,” he felt obligated to add.

“And Brock.” Her nose scrunched up in distaste. It was adorable. He had to keep her from changing her mind!

“Unless you want to use the bathroom in the master suite,” he offered generously.

She snorted a laugh into her coffee. “Thanks, but I don’t need you watching me every time I have to pee.”

“It has a _door_ ,” he exclaimed, offended. Watch her shower, certainly. Maybe he could even join her sometime. But he wasn’t going to watch her _pee_.

She continued smiling to herself. “Still. I think I’ll take my chances with the teenage boys. You might want to warn Brock and the robot, though. They hate me.” She didn’t sound particularly bothered by that idea.

“Oh, they do not! They’re just _protective_. Once I explain things to them, they’ll have—”

“Speak of the devil,” Jane murmured at the distinctive sound of a door opening and closing upstairs. Both of them looked toward the steps, but no hulking mulleted bodyguards appeared. “Huh.” She returned her attention to her coffee, and finally back to Rusty. “Anyway. When do I get to go down and see the mouse?”

“Whenever you like! Mi casa es su casa.” He spread his palms out to indicate the whole place.

“ _Verdad, tu hablas español? Tu padre te hizo estudiarlo también? El mío era un gran matón como ese. Et françes aussi. Latine quidem._ ” Jane rolled her eyes.

Having lost track about six words in, Rusty laughed awkwardly. “That was Latin, wasn’t it? Didn’t anyone tell you that’s a dead language?”

“That’s exactly what I tried to tell _him_ ,” she exclaimed, clearly feeling she had found a kindred spirit. “I mean okay, it’s come in handy once or twice or three times in science, but you _know_ it was just about bragging rights. Ooh, my kid can speak _Latin_! Listen asshole, anyone can buy Rosetta Stone and force it on their progeny, that doesn’t make you special. It just means you were the only one pretentious enough to _do_ it.”

Good lord, she was talking about her _father_! Willingly! To him! This had to be some kind of breakthrough. And while his father hadn’t forced Latin (and that had been French, too, yes?) onto him, he’d certainly sat through enough recorded lessons for a lifetime. He was just readying the perfect response when a sound made him look up. Just in time, too—Hank, who had been exasperatingly interested in practicing parkour ever since his return, had just flipped over the upstairs railing and launched himself toward the sofa.

His landing wasn’t smooth, and caused Rusty to spill coffee all over his legs with a yelp, but at least he didn’t break any bones. “Goooooood morning, Pop,” he said, recovering himself quickly while his father set his dripping cup down on the coffee table and looked around for a napkin or something.

“How many times have I told you, you’re not Evel Knievel! Look at this!” He indicated his soaked pajamas. At least he hadn’t gotten properly dressed yet.

Hank ignored him completely. “And _this_ lovely lady must be Jane,” he said, taking her hand and kissing the back of it like a gentleman in some movie. “As shante, mad-mosel!”

Rusty had been about to head to the kitchen for paper towels, but he paused to watch Jane’s reaction to this. She raised one perfect eyebrow. “Are you trying to say _enchanté, mademoiselle_?” she inquired coolly.

“I totally am,” Hank answered, unconcerned with her lack of enthusiasm. “You’re here awfully early today.”

“You’re _up_ awfully early today,” Rusty remarked sourly. The coffee had finished soaking into his pajama bottoms and was already at the stage where it cooled and clung to his skin.

“Things to do, places to be,” Hank answered with a knowing wink. “Just had to stop and say hi when I saw we were entertaining!”

“Yes, but did you have to jump from twenty feet up to do it?”

Hank thought about that before confidently answering “Yes. Anyway—” He turned his attention back to Jane. “I have some very important questions to ask this lady, if you don’t mind?”

Now _both_ of Jane’s eyebrows were up, but at least she seemed to be amused. She leaned back into the sofa cushions and took another sip of her miraculously unspilled coffee. “Fire away.”

“Do you have any cool superpowers?”

Jane shot an exasperated look toward Rusty. “You told him, didn’t you?”

“No,” he answered truthfully. Brock had.

“Ma’am, just answer the question, please,” Hank said seriously.

“I went from mademoiselle to ma’am that quickly?” She was no longer attempting to hide her smirk.

“Avoiding the question,” Hank observed. “Interesting…”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Jane complained, “ _no_ , I don’t have any superpowers, okay? I’m just a chemist and cocktail waitress.”

“Mmhm, mmhm.” Hank nodded to himself. You’d almost have believed he was jotting down his answers in a notepad, the way he acted! “Alright, next question. Can you get me and Deano into this club you work at?”

“Deano?” Bemused, she looked to Rusty again.

“Dean. His brother. Are we nearly through here, Hank?”

“After the lady answers the question,” said his infuriating son.

“Oh, totally,” Jane responded. “But I have a question for _you_. Why the hell are you calling me a lady? This isn’t _Downton Abbey_.”

“You watch _Downton Abbey_?” Rusty interrupted with surprise.

“Of _course_ I watch _Downton Abbey_.” She rolled her eyes. “What, I can’t like hip hop and still enjoy period dramas?”

“What’s _Downton Abbey_?” asked Hank curiously.

Jane dismissed this. “Next question.”

“Oooookay. In your opinion, what are the best foods in the world?”

“Peaches,” she answered immediately, “followed by whipped cream and shrimp. In that order.”

“Wow, that was quick.” Hank looked impressed. “Do you like flowers?”

“Yes, actually.”

“Uh-huh, uh-huh…” Hank made more imaginary notes. “And what’s your favorite?”

“Probably dahlia?” Jane shrugged. “Or roses, I guess. Something colorful.”

“Cool. If you could take a vacation anywhere in the world, where would you go?”

“Trinidad.”

“Is that a country?”

“Yes. In the Caribbean. Can we wrap this up? It’s starting to get a little creepy. I’m worried you’re going to start asking what shampoo I use or something.” She took a sip of coffee.

Hiding his mouth behind his hand, Hank leaned in close to his father and whispered audibly, “Thank me later!” Before Rusty could decide whether he in fact wanted to thank him or strangle him, Hank had turned back to Jane. “Just one more question, then. Are you, like, Pop’s girlfriend?”

“Of course she is,” Rusty blurted out, despite the question not being directed at him.

At the same time, Jane answered flatly, “Absolutely not.”

“Wait, what?” Rusty turned toward her, injured that she’d deny such a thing.

She looked at him in what seemed to be exasperation. “This is not news! I’ve told you before, I don’t _date_! I don’t do romance! That means we are emphatically _not_ an item.”

Rusty processed this. Then he cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses. “I’m sorry. You want to _move in_ here, correct?”

“Obviously,” she said shortly.

“And you like me, don’t you?” he prompted. It appeared she needed this spelled out carefully to her. It was a bit strange, the denial, but he didn’t mind holding her hand and walking her through it.

“You’re okay,” she admitted.

“And you trust me?”

She hesitated before answering. “Strangely, yes.”

“And you find me…” He winked and stretched a little for her benefit. “…attractive?”

She lifted her eyebrows, giving him a critical once over before shrugging. “Sure.”

That was hardly enthusiastic. Hank had gone strangely quiet through this entire exchange, cupping his chin in his hands and watching them with interest. Fantastic. He got to have this conversation with wet pants and an audience. Why was she being so _difficult_ about this?

“Well, you want to sleep with me!” Rusty pointed out impatiently.

“No,” Jane retorted, “I want to have _sex_ with you. I want to _sleep_ on my own.”

The woman truly _was_ impossible! “I meant sex,” he exclaimed, which should have been perfectly obvious. “Which, incidentally, you aren’t having with anyone _else_ , are you?”

She acknowledged that with another careless shrug. “Not currently.” Hank laughed into his hand, damn him.

“And you don’t plan to.” Come on now, Jane, now was not the time to be coy.

“No promises.”

After a moment, he succeeded in snapping his jaw shut. “What now?”

She laughed aloud. “Holy shit, you’re _face_!” More laughter. The fact that he didn’t find this remotely amusing only seemed to make her laugh harder. “Okay, fine,” she said at last, wiping imaginary tears of laughter from the corners of her eyes, “You know what? I won’t. If nothing else, it’ll keep me out of trouble.”

His smile returned. It might have taken some coaxing, and she might be having some fun at his expense, but she’d conceded all his points and proved him right. “Well then!” he said, beaming. “It sounds to _me_ like you’re my girlfriend, Jane.”

“Then I guess we agree to disagree,” she replied mildly, and set down her coffee mug. “I’m heading down to do some science. You coming?”

That might be as close to an admission as he was going to get from her right now.

He’d take it.

* * *

The rest of the day was pretty productive. Rusty declined to come down to the lab, assuring Jane that he had confidence in her ability to get the ball rolling on a more concentrated version of Alice. She took this to mean he knew that it would be a lot of tedious calculations, grinding ingredients, and then weighing them—now that the creative part was over, he was going to opt out until it got exciting again.

That didn’t actually annoy her very much, because it meant she could lose herself in the details of the work. The fact that they’d successfully collaborated as long as they had was quite the feat—usually she worked far better on her own. If she’d gone to a real school as a kid, she probably would have gotten _doesn’t play well with others_ written on every report card. Then again, if she’d gone to a real school, maybe she’d have gotten better at it. Regardless, chemistry was finicky work, requiring focus and precision. This suited her just fine.

The fact that it prevented her thinking about her bizarre meeting with Rusty’s son was admittedly an added bonus. That kid—no, he was a young man, old enough to be in college. When had college-age kids gotten so _young_? It was hard to believe she’d been that had been her just a decade ago—anyway he was daunting and charming at the same time. What kind of flowers did she like? What kind of question was that to ask a woman you just met first thing in the morning? Taking overzealous to new levels.

On the other hand, it made Rusty seem positively relaxed in comparison. Which was saying something, given she’d just had a _debate_ with him on whether or not they were dating. It was so ridiculous it actually made her laugh. He could call it whatever he liked, as long as he didn’t go getting any expectations. Agreeing not to fuck anyone else while she was living here, that was dangerous, she could see how that’d give him ideas. She probably _wouldn’t_ have agreed to it if she’d thought it through, but his reaction had just been so funny, and the recent escapade with Gary had her running scared. A relationship that wasn’t a relationship would keep her safe from a relationship that _was_ a relationship.

That made sense, right?

Back to science.

When it hit 4:00 she started wrapping things up for the night, so that she wasn’t in the middle of an essential step when it got to be five. She entertained the idea of just not turning up for her shift at the club, but wasn’t quite ready to do anything _else_ drastic until she saw how this latest choice panned out.

She made it back to her apartment in time to shower off, eat half a protein bar, pack a few essentials into her gym bag, still catch the train that’d get her into work on time. The only really good thing about the next eight hours was the fact that Jasmine wasn’t there. The rest of it was all predictably tedious and tiring. Walking around taking drink orders and getting eye-fucked shouldn’t have been as challenging as it was. But keeping her friendly smile in place as boring people chattered away to her or asked stupid questions wore her out more than any day of solving puzzles in the lab.

On the plus side, she realized as she waited for her train to VenTech, she didn’t feel like bursting into tears. Once she’d finally gotten to sleep last night, she’d slept really well. None of the obnoxious guys in the club had reminded her of Gary in some tiny pathetic way. She was feeling more like herself all the time.

It didn’t feel right, turning up at the tower in the middle of the night with a bag over her shoulder, _intending_ to go up there and sleep. Halfway through the lobby it occurred to her that everyone in the penthouse would probably be asleep, and she had no idea where the “guest room” might be. She couldn’t just walk around opening doors, either, because most of them would probably be occupied. God forbid she accidentally walked into Rusty’s son’s room—or worse, Brock’s. Son of a bitch. She should have just slept back at her crappy apartment again. Damn her for not thinking this through. Fuck.

But she didn’t turn around and catch a different train, either. She was tired, and she was already here, and if nothing else they had a huge sofa. Jane waved to the security guard as she approached the elevator, and he acknowledged her with a broad grin. She wasn’t sure if he’d been told that she lived here now, liked watching her walk by, or was genuinely just that friendly. Regardless, the elevator took her up to the penthouse without issue.

There was a soft glow of light from the upper floor, and another in the kitchen. Everything else was dark. Jane figured she’d go see if there was anyone _in_ the kitchen who could point her in the direction of her new bedroom. If not, she’d just go knock on Rusty’s door and ask him. Upon further reflection, she didn’t like the thought of sleeping out in the middle of the darkened living room, no matter how comfortable the sofa was. That creepy robot might come through and suffocate her with a pillow or something.

She made her way to the kitchen cautiously, not wanting to knock over anything in the dim lighting. She thought she was being pretty quiet, but the second she rounded the corner there was a knife in her face. Jane froze, careful not to make any sudden movements that would bring that sharp edge any closer to her neck. Letting her eyes move _past_ the knife, she was unsurprised to find a muscular arm—and behind that, Brock Samson. She raised her eyebrows imperiously at him, and after a moment he lowered the blade and stepped back.

“I see you’re worth your salt as a bodyguard,” she observed calmly. “Did you really think I was The Monarch, or were you trying to prove something?

He didn’t answer, which confirmed her suspicion that it was the latter. Instead, he grunted and turned back to the table, picking up what appeared to be a cold slice of sausage and mushroom pizza. It was harder to keep her face impassive while looking at _that_ than it had been when he’d been brandishing a knife in her face. She’d always found cold pizza unappealing, even in the days when she’d actually eaten pizza.

Didn’t seem like Brock was in the mood to chat. That was fine, she wasn’t either. “So did they tell you to wait up for me so you could show me to my room?”

“No,” he said blandly, still chewing. “I don’t do that.”

Right. He was going to make this as difficult for her as possible, wasn’t he? She shifted the strap of her gym bag a little. “Sooooo….am I supposed to just guess?”

He said nothing. Jane narrowed her eyes and waited. Finally, he polished off his midnight snack and looked at her. “Oh, you’re still here?”

He wanted to have this out now? Fine, they’d fucking have it out now. Jane crossed her arms. “You don’t want me here.”

“Picked up on that, did you?” He carried his empty plate over to the dishwasher.

Her smile could have frozen nitrogen. “Tragically, your opinion isn’t the only one that matters around here.” He ignored her. “So we’re going to have to deal with each other,” she reminded him. He shrugged. Jane let out a sigh of exasperation. Back to basics. “Okay, you don’t trust me.”

“Nope.”

It was like talking to a brick wall! “Because you think I’m trying to hurt the company or Rusty or something?”

“Yep,” he said, infuriating her more.

“Well,” Jane said after taking in a deep, calming breath, “I’m not.”

“And you expect me to just take your word for it?” Brock walked out of the kitchen, opening the door to the patio.

She followed him. “It’d be a lot easier on both of us, wouldn’t it?”

He pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it before answering. “Okay. Then what are you really doing here?”

“I already told you! Chemistry.”

“Why’d you change your name and hide it?”

“Because I hate my father and don’t want people associating me with him,” she explained evenly. Maybe it was a good thing Rusty had told her they all knew who she was. Not having to lie made this way easier.

Brock seemed to consider her answer as he took a drag off his smoke. “And why’d you come to work here?”

Was he just _testing_ her? “I thought you read my file,” she said impatiently. “I dropped out of college and refuse to capitalize on my dad’s name. Where else was I supposed to get a job like this?”

He crossed his arms, talking around the smoking cigarette as if it weren’t there. “Say I believe you. I still don’t get why you’re sleeping with the doc.”

“Is that a question, or a statement?”

“A question!”

Ah, finally, she was getting something resembling a reaction out of him. “I thought it was obvious,” she said calmly.

“It’s not.”

She managed not to smirk at his tone. Instead, she shrugged carelessly and told him the truth. “If it got back to my dad, it would piss him right the fuck off.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” Brock observed sarcastically.

“I never said I was nice.” She grinned viciously. “Anyway, that was just why I did it the first time.”

“Oh yeah?” He took another drag off the cigarette, looking mildly curious. “So what is it, like a bad habit?”

Jane shrugged again. “He’s there. I like sex.”

“You’re a regular nympho, aren’t you.”

Why did men always assume that if a woman liked casual sex, she was out of control? “If I was a nympho, I’d have tried to do everyone in this building by now, from Billy down to the old guy at the front desk.” She couldn’t resist adding, “Including you. I have some self-control. And _some_ standards.”

“You got a problem with me?” he demanded, sounding dangerous despite his deceptively calm tone.

“No offense,” she lied. “But I don’t fuck with OSI.” 

He eyed her suspiciously. “I _did_ read your file. You had an agent assigned to you, before you left home.” He made it sound like an accusation. She supposed it was, in a way.

“Did you know him?” She heard the way her tone softened, hating herself for it.

“Agent Pacer, right?” Brock blew out smoke. Jane wondered if he knew she was hanging on his words, waiting for some new tidbit of information. He _must_ have known, to make her wait so long before continuing. “Yeah, I knew him a little. He came up around the same time I did.” He paused, and she held her breath. “We had different styles, but he was a solid agent.” He rubbed out the cigarette on the railing and flicked it over the edge. “Was sorry to hear he bought it.”

Jane took a long, deep breath, and nodded once. “So was I.”

He looked at her for what felt like hours. “You would’ve been, what, fifteen when he died?”

“Seventeen.” She met his eyes steadily, refusing to show weakness. “And it happened when he was saving _me_.” She hated that slight hitch in her voice too, even after all these years. “So I stay clear of OSI now.”

He stared at her for another hundred years. She started to wish he’d just ask the question and get it over with. But instead, after an age, he shoved his hands in his pockets and swaggered back to the door. “Last room at the end of the hall,” he said over his shoulder, not bothering to look at her.

* * *

It was, in fact, quite surprising that he woke up. The previous night had naturally been low on sleep, Project Alice and his late-night visitor. Then Jane had asked about the spare room, and all his plans for the day had gone out the window. He wasn’t going to look like he couldn’t deliver! As soon as she’d left for the lab, he’d grabbed H.E.L.P.eR. and Hank and started hauling boxes out of the unused office at the end of the second floor.

So many things they’d brought from the ruins of the old compound, only to discover they didn’t need here. Boxes of books he’d always meant to get around to reading. Photo albums. Old toys that he’d told the boys he threw out long ago. Records, thank heavens they hadn’t managed to destroy his records. Flatware. Shelving. Science equipment he’d never remembered to move down to the lab.

Brock would have been a fantastic help in the endeavor—he could probably have moved half the room without breaking a sweat—but he was annoyingly uninterested in being of assistance. So Rusty put his son in charge of the cleaning instead, which he knew was risky business, and called Hatred up from the lobby to help with the lifting. Meanwhile, _he_ went out shopping.

Nothing too ornate. Unless she’d be _expecting_ ornate. He stood in the department store staring at bedframes for so long that three separate salespeople tried to help him. At length, he went with the advice of the first one and chose something that looked like it would fit in with the rest of the house. A low oaken bedframe and full-size mattress, along with a deco-styled dresser and some matching shelves. Pillows, she’d need pillows too. He added two, as well as new ones for himself because who _knew_ how much of Jonas’ sweat had soaked into the ones at the penthouse and ugh, why was he even thinking about that?

Bedding. Blue and gold, more art deco patterns. A mirror with a bunch of strange angles that the salesman assured him was very modern. What else would she need? Rusty tried and failed to remember what color the curtains were in that room, but to tell the truth they rarely even turned the light on. Did it have a window? It must. He called Hank to ask. Yes, it had a window. Yes, it had drapes. He bought some blue and gold ones anyway, to match the bedspread.

At that point he had to stop for lunch because shopping was exhausting. After a disappointing souffle at a little café, he added a lamp, nightstand, and a few pieces of inexpensive modern art that looked _just_ like something Jonas would have picked out for the place. Better add a few new bath towels, too.

Despite shopping being exhausting, he realized he was in no hurry to get back home and assist in the cleaning efforts. Surely Hatred and Hank had that under control. He stopped to see if there were any last-minute tickets available for a matinee of _Kiss Me Kate_ and lucked out. He’d enjoyed the show, despite Hatred calling six times during the second act to see when he was coming back.

Hank was long gone by the time he returned home, probably getting himself killed by parkouring all over the city. But the spare room now _looked_ like a spare room. The furniture had even been delivered. Rusty gallantly assisted H.E.L.P.eR. and Hatred in hanging the mirror and putting sheets on the bed, after which the Captain turned up to demand he look at some tedious numbers for the stockholders. He heard someone come in just as he was getting ready for bed, but it was only Hank. Silly of him, really. He _knew_ Jane worked until one or two in the morning. When would she drop this business about working a second job? Maybe once she saw that she had everything she needed right here. With that happy thought, Rusty rolled over and managed to fall asleep.

But the squeak on the stairs sometime later made him sit bolt upright. A quick glance at his clock made him suspect a certain someone, and a tiny peek into the hall, showing the door at the very end ajar, confirmed his suspicions. He started to tiptoe down there, but at the last moment decided a change of clothing might go over well. She’d already seen him in these pajamas, after all. They _did_ bring out the blue of his eyes, but he felt something more risqué was called for tonight. How about a black silk bathrobe…with nothing under it.

Her door was still partially open, bleeding a long line of yellow light into the hallway. He rapped his knuckles on the wood very lightly before stepping inside. “How do you like it?” he asked, pushing the door shut behind him with his foot.

Jane had been crouched down, plugging a cable into an electric outlet, but she stood and turned quickly at the sound of his voice. “I love it,” she informed him without a smile, “but I’m mad at you.”

“What on earth for?” he demanded, looking around the room to see if he’d missed anything critical and not finding anything.

“There is no _way_ your _spare room_ —” She actually used finger quotations! “—looked like this before yesterday.”

As if she would have been happy if he’d left it with nothing but a desk and stacks of dusty boxes? Still, electing to play it safe, he undersold how much he’d had to do to accommodate her sudden decision. “I admit I had to move a few boxes out and put on fresh bedding…”

“ _Flowers_ , Rusty, really?” She gestured vehemently to an attractive vase on top of the dresser. It held a bright array of red, yellow, and orange roses and dahlias. He thought they were a nice welcoming touch, but Jane clearly disagreed. “I said no romance!”

It was very tempting to tell her that what puzzling out what fit into her personal concept of _romance_ was far more effort than ordering a bouquet. It was also tempting to point out that most women would have been delighted to receive such an arrangement. However, she _wasn’t_ most women, and he wouldn’t really want her to be.

So what he said was “You think _I_ had something to do with that?” He shook his head, walking over to put a hand on her arm and calm her down. “This has Hank written all over it!”

She did subside somewhat. “And I suppose the fresh peaches were Hank, too?”

“Peaches?”

She pointed at the bowl of fruits on the nightstand, next to a tropical scented candle.

Rusty shook his head again in denial. “Nothing to do with me.”

“Oh.” Jane sat down on the edge of her bed, bouncing slightly as she tested it for springiness. “So…your _son_ left my favorite flowers and fruits for me.” Her eyebrows shot up, but this time she was definitely amused. “That’s not weird at _all_.”

Since she hadn’t told him not to, he sat down next to her. “He probably thought he was helping. I’ll, er…I’ll ask him to tone it down.”

She snorted. “I don’t get the impression he can tone _anything_ down. And helping _who_ , exactly?”

That question was a little disturbing. He had to laugh, just a bit. “Me, I hope? I mean, not that I _hope_ he’s helping me, I don’t need any _help_. It’s just better than thinking he’s doing all this for _himself_.” This was not coming out at all the way he’d wanted. None of this was going the way he’d wanted! “What kind of woman gets mad about flowers anyway?”

Jane, he noticed, was smiling. “You know, you’re cute when you get flustered.”

 _That_ was interesting. He smiled slyly. “Oh I am, am I?” Slowly, he stretched out backward onto her mattress, letting the robe fall open as it would.

“Mm-hm.” She went the other way, crawling over him on her hands and knees. “Makes me want to take advantage of you.”

He had no idea what to say to that, but fortunately she didn’t seem to require an answer. Instead, she ran the backs of her fingers over the front of his robe and kissed him. Alright, so maybe this hadn’t gotten so far off track, after all.

She sat up on him, pulling her tight shirt off in one complicated movement before moving back in for the kill. (The kill? Why would he think of it like that? Though the French did call it _the little death_ , didn’t they…)

“Thanks,” Jane said quietly, her reasonable tone at odds with the way she was shoving his robe out of the way. “For last night. For knowing better than to get me flowers. For not making this into a big deal.”

The things she was doing with her hand were making _something_ a big deal, though. “In that case,” he said with only the smallest catch in his breathing, “I won’t get you flowers tomorrow, either.”

“Oooh, you know all the lines.” He noticed a flash of a grin somewhere above her breasts, which admittedly were holding most of his attention. Then she kissed him again, at which point he closed his eyes, but he felt her shift and press his body against his side as continued moving her hand. This was the life. This was worth a whole morning of furniture shopping. More than worth it!

“I won’t call you my girlfriend, either,” he told her in a stroke of genius.

“Mmm,” she answered appreciatively, pushing hips harder against him. “Now you’re getting it. Tell me more things you’re not going to do.” She sounded genuinely aroused, no hint of amusement in the purr of her voice.

Expecting him to think that much at a time like this seemed hideously unfair. “Make you…a fancy…dinner?” Not as though he’d been planning on it.

“Good.” She kissed him again, slowly, with lots of tongue.

“Or tell you I love you,” he promised as massaged her right breast.

Jane gasped sharply, arching her back. When she spoke again, it was definitely a groan of pleasure. “Oh. Yes. Like th-that.” He wasn’t sure if the words or the caress had gotten that reaction out of her, but he continued that motion with his fingers. She groaned again before abruptly pulling away, flipping off the bed and stripping her pants off. Thank goodness, he was so hard it was starting to get painful.

Despite not seeing her do anything besides remove the rest of her clothes, she somehow had a condom when she hopped back on the bed. How did she _do_ that? Maybe she’d been lying to Hank before, and magically producing condoms was her secret superpower. And why was he even thinking about Hank in _passing_ right now, or wondering about where she got it?

“Aren’t we passed the point where we need those?”

“You tell me,” she responded as she tore open the packaging. “I really don’t want to spend the next few months here dropping all my other projects while I search for a cure for herpes or something.”

She thought _he_ had herpes? That was laughable, not that he was likely to admit it anytime soon. “No, no,” he assured her hurriedly. “No chance of that.”

“Okay then,” she said brightly, and pitched the condom over her shoulder.

If he’d known it would be that easy, he would have asked some time ago! “You’re just taking my word for it?”

“Sure.” She put one knee on either side of him and adjusted her hips down to an optimal position. “I’ve decided to trust you, remember?”

After that, it was a while before either of them said anything remotely articulate.


	9. Chapter 9

Jane was mildly surprised to discover she _liked_ living in the penthouse. She’d known she’d like the convenience of it, and in some way she must have trusted Rusty to ensure she didn’t destroy herself, or she wouldn’t have decided to move in the first place.

But that she was genuinely enjoying herself, that was a shock. Rusty Venture didn’t stir any dangerous romantic feelings in her, but that meant that she felt more comfortable around him. She didn’t have to pretend she wasn’t scared of the relationship, because she wasn’t. She didn’t have to fake finding everything he said interesting, because sometimes he could be really self-involved and annoying. She didn’t feel any need to rearrange her schedule to spend time with him. She didn’t have any compunctions about using his kitchen, washing machine, and cable as freely as she did the lab. She didn’t think twice about plonking her ass down next to him if she was bored and wanted a scientific discussion or an endless personal narrative to entertain her. And if she was in the mood to get laid, all she had to do was walk ten yards down the hall and take her clothes off.

Living with the rest of his family was a little trickier. Hank’s unstoppable enthusiasm and energy were a bit much, and she couldn’t understand how he managed to take longer in the bathroom than she did, but he was an amiable kid. Brock seemed to be getting used to her, though they continued to give each other a wide berth. She’d only really seen Dean a few times so far, but he seemed reserved and good at minding his own business, which she liked. And H.E.L.P.eR., well…he hadn’t tried to kill her yet, so there was that.

Project Alice was on put on hold after they’d perfected the shrinking portion of the formula, because someone had reminded Rusty that inventing something which could turn a quick profit might be a good idea. That meant she got stuck back on perfecting her hangover remedy—because it was safe, almost finished, and sure to be popular—and tiny sticky bombs, because there was a good chance the military would snap them up. She was a little disappointed to leave the project only half finished, but by now she had a vested interest in keeping the Ventures out of the red. If the company went under, she stood to lose her job _and_ her home.

Because yes, it was her home now. She hadn’t told the club to stick it up their ass quite yet, but there was nothing of hers left at that crappy studio apartment in the Bronx. It had all come to the penthouse, bit by bit, over the past five weeks. She’d even gone so far as to decorate her room there, which she’d never bothered to do at the last few places she’d lived. It was nice getting back from a long miserable shift and listen to spotify while looking out her window at the sea of city lights before flopping onto a soft mattress and burrowing under a mountain of blankets.

Which made it particularly upsetting when sometime just shy of Memorial Day she woke up around four in the morning to a gigantic crash. She reached to her bedside table, grabbing one of the marble explosives she kept in the drawer there before sliding silently out of bed. She’d taken to sleeping in a tank top and panties lately—it was slightly less convenient in some ways, but at times like this she was glad she could head right out of the room without traumatizing (or enticing, which was probably worse) Dean or Hank.

Brock was already in the hallway, knife in hand, and Hank was sticking his head out of his room. They didn’t look like they had any more answers than she did, but that didn’t stop her hissing “Holy shitfuck what the fuck was that?” in an urgent undertone.

“Patio door,” Brock growled. “Get back in your rooms.”

There were voices coming from downstairs, several of them, speaking in sotto like they didn’t want to be caught. Fat chance of that, after breaking the fucking door down. There had to be glass _everywhere_ right now. It wouldn’t be safe to walk barefoot through the living room for a week! Fuckers. “I hope you teach them some manners,” she snarled before retreating behind the relative safety of her door. She didn’t like hiding, especially since this was undoubtedly that worthless sack of shit The Monarch, but there was no point in putting herself at any risk when Brock had it under control.

She sat by her door and listened, though. There were some shouts, a few yelps, and one shriek that sounded pretty damn ominous. Also lots of thuds. Sounded like Brock was doing a good job. Jane opened her door a crack, peeking out before darting down the hall and leaning over the railing. The lights were still off, but all the action seemed to be happening out on the patio now. Something moved behind her, and she spun around, realizing it was Hank just before her foot connected with his face.

“Nice,” he said appreciatively. “What’s happening?”

Jane shrugged. “Can’t tell for sure. Where’s your dad?”

“Probably in his panic room. Dean went that way a minute ago.” He peered into the darkness. “Think he needs any help?”

“Who, your dad? Nah, he’s good at surviving.” It was one of the things she liked about him, actually.

“No!” She could almost _hear_ the kid rolling his eyes. “ _Brock_.”

A series of _oof_ sounds floated in from the patio at that point, followed by an unfamiliar voice shouting “Your _wings_ , Sixteen! Activate them! Shit!”

“I think he’s got this covered,” she told Hank. Internally, she felt relief. She hadn’t realized until now that she’d been afraid that she’d hear Gary’s voice down there. Yeah, he’d left her on a roof, but she didn’t really want to see him get fucked up by Brock. She’d rather not see him at all, actually. In any capacity. And if one of his henchmen had just plummeted to their death from the patio, well, served them right for breaking into her home.

“Thought I told you to stay in your rooms,” Brock said stoically, limping up the stairs and into the light. He had a considerable amount of blood on him, but she didn’t think much of it was his. His foot was definitely bleeding, though—just like she’d thought, you wouldn’t be able to walk through the living room barefoot for _ages_.

“Are we clear?” she inquired.

“Was it The Monarch?” Hank asked.

“Why does everyone insist on bleeding into my carpet?” Rusty exclaimed, stepping out of his bedroom.

“Huh?” Brock looked down at his feet in surprise, then ran a bloody hand through his hair. “Oh. Uh. No sign of The Monarch, but it was his guys alright. I think I got ‘em all, but I wanna do a sweep of the place first and make sure. They like to hide, sometimes.”

“Well put a bandage on first,” Rusty told him irritably. “Dean, they’re gone.”

“What does ‘stay in your rooms’ mean to you people?” Brock asked in exasperation.

“Be ready in case you need back-up?” Hank guessed.

Dean emerged, yawning. “What were they trying to do?”

“That’s the part I can’t figure out,” Brock answered him, ignoring Hank’s comment. “I don’t like it. Feels off.”

“Should we get Uncle Hatred up here, too?” Dean asked, looking around nervously.

“Might not be a bad idea,” Brock conceded. “I kinda wonder if they planted something. Jane, you’re into explosives, right? Take a look around, see if you can find any.”

Seriously? “I _make_ explosives,” she answered tartly, “I’m not a bomb disposal dog!”

“I thought you might—never mind, I’ll do it.”

Oh _hell_ no, she was not letting him dismiss her that easily. “No, I can take a look,” she snapped.

“Okay. Doc, call Hatred, get him up here. And you and Dean get back into the panic room till I tell you it’s clear, got it?”

“What about me?” Hank. Of course.

“Like you’d go back if I told you to?” Brock sounded both exasperated and affectionate. “Stick by me, okay?”

“Yessir!” Hank practically skipped off behind him. Jane made a face at Rusty as she headed downstairs, as if to say _I can’t believe you deal with this all the time_. Her dad used to get arched two or three times a year, max.

They turned on the lights in the main floor, and Jane had started searching under and behind surfaces, anywhere you might stash an explosive or a bug. All she found was that no one had emptied the trash in the kitchen since Tuesday, and H.E.L.P.eR. sleeping in a closet by the vacuum cleaner. She kept an eye out for any lurking henchmen with tranqs, too, but luckily no one tried to take her by surprise. She checked the patio, too—though why they’d have broken the glass if they were going to plant something on the patio was beyond her. As expected, all she got out there was cold.

Brock, Hatred, and Hank hadn’t had any more luck, it seemed. Maybe they’d apprehended The Monarch’s henchmen before they’d accomplished whatever they’d been sent to do. Seeming disgruntled, Brock gave the all-clear a second time just as traces of dawn were starting to appear. Shit. Was it even worth going back to bed? Yes. Absolutely. She rubbed her cheeks drowsily. Even with stimulants, 100 minutes of sleep for the night was not going to cut it. She was so close to finishing up the work on that nausea and hangover remedy, and she wanted to be in top form so that she didn’t sabotage herself someh…

“What if it’s a decoy?” Jane asked suddenly, heart in her throat.

“Huh?” Hank stopped rubbing his eyes to turn and stare at her. “What would they want to distract us from?”

“Hatred, who’d you leave in the lobby?” Brock demanded, rounding on the security guard.

“You didn’t give me a lot of time,” Hatred protested, looking uncomfortable. “The doc said get up here quick, it’s an emergency.”

“So who’d you _leave_?”

“Just the janitor, you know, uh…Liam? I think that’s his name…”

Brock groaned. “So basically _anyone_ could have walked in while we were all up here?”

“The doors were still locked!” Hatred tried to defend himself. “And Doc said—”

Jane ran for the elevator. Brock was hot on her heels. Neither of them waited for Rusty, who was just emerging from his bedroom, or anyone else. Brock hit the button for the lobby. She hit the one for the lab. They descended in agonized silence.

The doors opened on the main floor, and Brock stepped off. “You should wait for me,” he warned when Jane didn’t budge. “There could be someone down there.”

“If there is anyone in my lab,” she told him flatly, “they’re going to regret it.” The doors closed.

There wasn’t anyone in the lab.

That was a great disappointment to Jane because it meant she had no one to take her anger out on.

They _had_ been there, motherfuckers. The lab was a disaster. Smashed flasks and bottles all over the floor. The scent of spilled chemicals was sharp, though the sulfur overpowered most of them. Luckily, she was fairly used to most of them.

They’d found an acid and poured it all over not just Rusty’s pile of notes, but her notebooks as well. The mice cages were all empty. Several of Pete’s monitors were smashed. The cabinet of tools had been tipped over, and the old filing cabinet was a mess of scattered and ripped papers. She headed toward her preferred area in a trance of horror. The notes. The bottles. The fridge doors were left open. They’d ruined _everything_. She had to see how bad it was, how much she’d lost.

Just as she neared her station, fire hit the toes on her left foot. She jerked back instinctively, nearly falling in the process, realizing before she even caught herself that it wasn’t fire. Stupid automatic reaction. It was an acid burn. She’d come down here in her bare feet like an idiot, and she’d stepped in a puddle of sulfuric acid. She let out a scream, more of fury than pain, and made her way as carefully as she could to the cabinet with the ammonium hydroxide. She was hopping on one foot by the time she got close enough to see that it had _also_ been dumped out onto the floor; the empty bottle was lying on the floor right in front of the cabinet, taunting her. She snarled and adjusted her course for the decon shower.

She turned the water on and sat, examining her injury as the water ran over it. It kept her from focusing on the pain too much. The bottoms of her fourth and fifth toes were already visibly raw, along with an inch or two down the outside of her foot. That probably meant no kickboxing practice at the gym for a while. She tried to laugh, but between the deep burning in her foot and the sense of loss over all her work, it turned into an angry sob. She slammed her hand into the floor, channeling her rage.

She was still sitting on the floor flushing her injury with water when Brock came down. She’d stopped crying by then, thankfully—she just wished she’d worn a watch, because she had no idea how long she’d been rinsing it and was sick of sitting in a puddle. He took a look around before tapping a button on his watch. “You better get down here,” he said into it.

“You alright?” he asked brusquely, prowling around the perimeter of the lab rather than heading straight to her.

“I’ve had acid burns before,” she said with forced calm. “Watch your step, though.”

She observed his nod and his cautious progression around the laboratory. He was nearly through when Rusty made it down. She got one look at his face and turned her attention abruptly back to her foot, because that pain was better than seeing the same devastation that she felt echoed there. It just made it worse, somehow. She could handle the stupid burn. That was an annoyance, but it was also her own damn fault. The lab, though. _That_ hurt.

Then his voice said, from close behind her, “What happened?”

Jane didn’t even turn. “They wrecked everything, that’s what happened!”

“I can see that,” he said heavily. “I meant your foot.”

“You can see that, too,” she snarled, nearly biting his head off as she twisted around to show off the part of her foot that was missing all of its epidermis and probably most of the dermis, too. “I stepped in acid.” And that wasn’t the fucking _point_ , that wasn’t the problem! “They wrecked _all_ of it,” she reiterated, anger seeping from every syllable. “ _All_ our work! My bombs, the remedies, Project Alice, the new plant breed Billy was working on, everything!”

“I know.” He nodded, looking dejectedly at the water swirling around the shower drain. “It’ll take a while to recover from this one. At least they didn’t set any of the explosives off, though. Could have taken out the whole building if they’d done that.”

“How can you be so _calm_ about this?” She knew she was starting to sound hysterical, but she also felt like that was a merited reaction. Rusty’s calm in the face of it made her want to scream.

He sat down next to her, still watching the water. “Jane.” He sounded so damn _tired_ when he said her name like that. It made her want to scream even more. “How many times do you think I’ve been through this? Hm?”

That hadn’t occurred to her, but the thought was revolting. “He’s done this more than once?”

“Well, not _this_ , exactly.” He wiggled a hand back and forth to suggest variations. “Sometimes it’s half my home getting destroyed. Sometimes it’s just a bunch of weirdos walking in and stealing things. Sometimes they’ll just take a few pieces because they think it’s funny, trying to make me believe I’m losing my mind. Sometimes they’re trying to ransom my boys or torture me, sometimes they just cut the power at a crucial moment.” He shrugged. “You get used to it.”

Suddenly two kidnappings in her youth didn’t seem quite so bad. “You get _used_ to it? How can you get _used_ to that? That was your work! My work! _Our_ work! And you’re just going to, to let the motherfuckers get _away_ with it?”

Rusty sighed and leaned back against the edge of the decon shower. “What else am I supposed to do? That’s the life of a super scientist. We get our own back, from time to time.” A tiny smile crept up the edge of his lips at that. Jane really wished she could share his acceptance of the situation, but everything he was saying just made her want to lash out more.

“Get me my phone,” she growled.

“What’s that?” Clearly not a request he was expecting.

“Get me. My phone.”

“Er…what for?”

“Because if I need to finish flushing out this wound before I can go get it myself, and I’m impatient.”

He emitted a put-upon sigh. “Let me see it.”

“Fuck off.” She _did_ let him see it, though, pulling her leg back out of the water so he could examine the burn.

“I’ve seen worse,” he sniffed after a quick look. “You’ll feel a lot better if we get you back upstairs.”

“No I won’t.” She knew he was probably right, that she’d probably rinsed all the traces of acid away by now, that dry clothes and some pain meds would help her a lot more than sitting here surrounded by her loss. But for some reason—some _strange_ reason!—she was feeling hostile toward everyone and everything at the moment.

Rusty narrowed his eyes and gave her a long, unpleasant look. She glared right back at him. He sighed and stood up. “Brock, could you get Jane back upstairs? She can’t walk right now.”

Brock shrugged and headed back in their direction. “Yeah, sure. There’s none of them left down here.”

“Fuck you, I can walk,” she said before he could get there, pushing herself up to standing. If she balanced on the very edge of her foot and put a hand against the wall, it would be a snap.

That attitude made it all the more humiliating when she stumbled on her second step, losing her balance just enough that her weight came down on the burn, and sat down with a pained hiss. Brock and Rusty were both watching her, eyebrows up. She narrowed her eyes at them and pushed herself back up.

“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” Rusty exclaimed, looking away as he flapped his hand at Brock. “Stop her before she hurts herself more.”

Brock shook his head in what _might_ have been sympathy to her predicament, but then he walked over and picked her up as if she didn’t weigh anything.

Jane could have fought it. She could have kicked and screamed, and it would have felt good to lash out like that, but she didn’t really want to limp or crawl to the elevator, and from there up to her bedroom. She attempted to look dignified while being carried like a baby by Brock, silently fuming the whole time.

* * *

“Yeah, it’s me, Jane, remember me? You should, since you just came from my place after completely _fucking_ me! I can’t believe I ever liked you, you shit-sucking fuckwad! Leaving me on the roof was one thing, but this? You don’t fuck with my work, asshole! Put your jack-off boss on. I said put him _on_! You can fuck with me, but you _don’t_ fuck with my _work_! You hear me? You _asshole_! Now put your _fucking_ boss on before I come down there and _kill you_!”

Maybe letting Jane have her phone had been a mistake.

“Is this The Monarch? This is his what? His _wife_? Who would willingly _fuck_ that creep? Do you know what he did tonight? Oh! You _do_ know! Well listen up bitch, I don’t care _where_ you rank in the Guild because I’m not a member! And I’m not a Venture, either! So I can do whatever the fuck I want! And what I want right now is to give your fucking asshole dickhead husband a piece of my mind. Or, failing that, I think I want to head on down to your crappy little castle in Jersey and plant a couple of incendiary bombs, how does that sound?”

“You know,” Brock said conversationally from his seat in the kitchen, “I’ve changed my mind. She’s alright.”

Rusty shivered pleasantly. “I know, right? She’s terrifying!”

“You should’ve warned me, though,” Brock replied with a grin. “I would’ve made a game outta it. Drink every time she drops an F-bomb.”

“Good luck keeping up!” He couldn’t help laughing, though. He’d known Jane could be fierce, and he’d known she was angry. Well that made sense, didn’t it—she hadn’t had to deal with this sort of thing before. But seeing her unleash this torrent of curses and threats upon The Monarch’s people was supremely satisfying.

“ _No_ , I don’t want to come work for you, you giant stick of fuck! Why the _fuck_ would I ever want to _anything_ to do with the fucking _Guild_ after they fucking _kidnap_ me and then fucking come in and _ruin_ my projects? I hope that sack of human garbage spilled acid all over himself and melted his dick off and now every time he— She hung up on me! Oh no they fucking _don’t_ , I will blow that whole place sky high, you’ll see, they don’t get to—”

Rusty cleared his throat. “Jane, dear,” he said, smirking at Brock, “your New York is showing.” Both of them laughed.

“Don’t you mock me! He wrecked your shit, too! How can you just laugh about it? Oh wait, it’s probably because you didn’t step in _acid_ on top of everything, isn’t it?”

“Sorry, dear,” he called before laughing into his hand. “The Monarch doesn’t know how lucky he is that she’s laid up right now!”

“No kidding,” Brock agreed with a hearty nod. “What’s it with you and psycho chicks?”

He managed to stop laughing. “Oh, Jane isn’t really—”

“If you call me ‘dear’ one more time,” she said from the kitchen doorway, “I will invent a drug that makes you unable to stop itching even after you scratch all the skin off your body, and I’ll slip it into your morning coffee.”

“Oh, you will not,” he said confidently. But he didn’t call her _dear_ , either.

“You were saying?” Brock asked blandly.

“That _Jane_ is justifiably upset.” He kept his tone haughty as he stood up and slipped an arm around Jane’s waist. “But you need to get back off that foot for now.”

She allowed him to lead her back to the sofa, where she collapsed with a groan. “I can’t believe she hung _up_ on me!”

“You can’t?” It was so _very_ difficult to keep a straight face.

“I _hate_ being laid up,” she said fiercely, adjusting her position in the cushions. “I want to invent that itching powder and go use it on _them_. Or finish my flesh-burrowing nanobots, but oh wait I _can’t_ , because those asshats ruined everything!”

She really _was_ taking this hard. He sighed and looked up at the ceiling, searching for something useful to say. It wasn’t there. “Well, find a way to deal with it. You know you can’t kill them. And you can’t fix it. So deal with it, and in a week or so we’ll start over. Now, do you want some painkillers, or not?”

Her upper lip twitched, her eyes flashed, and she subsided. “Yes. And I want to go up to my room. And I need to call up the club and tell them I won’t be making it in tonight, because there is no _way_ I’m cramming this foot into a high heel.” She sighed and closed her eyes. “Isn’t there any way to do amazing things in science _without_ a bunch of numbnuts in costume constantly screwing it up?”

“Not really, no.” The little people who worked for companies that didn’t try to do anything besides trying to cure the common cold or find new ways to go to the moon, he supposed they wouldn’t have to contend with any significant arching. But that all required a college degree, and anyway Jane had said _amazing_ things in science. “If you find one, be sure to let me know.”

“That’s what I thought.” When she reopened her eyes, she seemed far calmer, but the bitterness in her was practically palpable. “I really thought, when I changed my name and blocked Dad’s e-mails, that I could escape all this shit.”

Rusty snorted. “That was pretty stupid of you! Though I suppose we all think something like that at one point. No, this is the reality of it. There _is_ no escape.”

Jane stared at him. “When did you stop trying to be nice to me?”

“What are you talking about? I _am_ nice!”

For the first time that night, her face showed hints of a smile. “No, you’re not. But it’s fine. I like this better.”

* * *

“Well, I’m fired,” she announced, limping her way into Rusty’s room and flopping down on his bed without waiting for an invitation.

“You’re…?” He’d been watching something on tv, and her sudden entrance and declaration must have thrown him for a loop. “Oh, from the club?” Good, he’d caught up.

“Of course from the club.” She rolled over onto her back, crossing her arms behind her head. “Unless you’re planning on firing me, too, which frankly I wouldn’t advise.”

He laughed uneasily. Good. He _should_ be uneasy. She _wanted_ people scared of her today. “I wouldn’t dream of it. Why would the club fire you for being injured?”

Poor Rusty. He may have gotten multiple inventions stolen or ruined, he might have spent his childhood getting dragged all over the globe, and he’d been through all kinds of violence and trauma and who knew what. But he’d never had to work a day in his life, not at a _real_ job. He had no idea what it was like to keep smiling as some old lady insisted you’d gotten her order wrong, or some drunken asshole pinched your ass, or make the decision to go in when you’ve barely slept because you had literally nothing in your fridge. Sure, there were labor laws. Sure, they _shouldn’t_ have been able to fire her when she had a perfectly good reason for calling in. But that wasn’t the way the world worked.

She turned her head enough to give him a bitter smile and shake her head at his innocence. “It ‘follows a pattern of behavior,’” she recited. “Because this one time a couple months back, I got tranqued while I was getting ready for my shift, and as a result was a no-show that night.” It really _was_ unfair, when you put it like that. Total load of bullshit. But she’d had enough crappy jobs over the past decade that this didn’t even phase her—it was just annoying.

This must have been how _he_ felt, when he saw the destroyed lab.

“Anyway,” she resumed, studying her fingernails, “they didn’t technically fire me for being injured. They put me on _probation_. When I told them to shove it up their asses, that I didn’t need their crappy job anymore anyhow— _that’s_ what got me fired.” It was also why she wasn’t especially upset by it. She’d known what she was doing when she gave them a piece of her mind. She’d known, really, what was going to happen before she even picked up the phone to call in. This had been a long time coming.

“Finally! That’s _long_ overdue,” Rusty remarked, echoing her thoughts. He watched her for a minute—she wasn’t really looking his way, but she could feel his eyes on her. “You’re not even upset about it, are you?”

“Oh, absolutely.” Jane rolled her eyes. “I’m going to _desperately_ miss dressing up in a skimpy black cat costume and stilettos just to bring beer and bar cheese to tourists and wannabes.”

“Excellent. Then you’ll have plenty of extra time to help me get the lab ship-shape again.”

“Joy.” She swirled an unenthusiastic finger in the air. “Tell you what, I’ll pick up all the broken glass if you want to tackle Pete’s desk.”

“What’d they do to that?”

“Nothing. Pete’s just a disgusting slob.” Amusement at her own joke dragged a grin out of her. “I can’t believe I finally _quit_!”

“I thought you said you got fired.”

“Yes, Rusty, thanks for raining on my parade.” She rolled her eyes again. “What’re you watching?” If it was another musical, she’d be out of here so fast…

“ _The Mummy_ ,” he said tartly. “Though they had Jeopardy on one of the other channels, if Brendan Fraser doesn’t meet your standards.”

He was being sarcastic, how nice. She decided to take it as an invitation to stay, and pushed herself up the expanse of mattress till she could reach a pillow to prop her foot up on. It still hurt. “You got any more painkillers stashed away in here?”

Rusty managed to look every inch the martyr as he got up, plodded to his bathroom, opened a drawer, and returned with a single white tablet in his hand. She raised her eyebrows as she plucked it from his palm. “I’m bowled over by your generosity.”

“You’re _here_ because of my generosity, missy.” He sat back down, making himself comfortable against the headboard. “How _is_ your foot?” he inquired after a minute of pretending to watch commercials.

“Obviously, it hurts. Hence my asking for drugs.” She swallowed the pill dry. “But I’m dealing. How long do you think it’ll take, to get the lab up and running again?”

“A few weeks to get everything restocked, but the lab itself should be functional in a few days. Now if you don’t mind, I’m trying _not_ to think about it.”

Jane pretended to watch the commercial on tv. It wasn’t a very good distraction. “Yeah, me too.”

“Really?” He seemed surprised to hear that. “You’re terrible at it, then.”

“I know. Give me another pillow.”

He did.

They watched in silence for a while.

“So….” He glanced over at her, probably gauging her mood before speaking again. “Why Trinidad?”

“What?” That came out of nowhere!

“Trinidad,” Rusty repeated patiently, as if he were talking to a child. “It’s where you told Hank you’d want to visit, given the chance.”

She remembered, she just didn’t want to answer him. She kept her eyes straight ahead on the tv.

“Fine, forget I asked,” he sniffed after a while

Oh, what the hell. It was a distraction, wasn’t it? She rotated onto her side, propping herself up on an elbow and actually looking at him. “It’s where my mom was from. I’ve never been.”

“How old were you when she left?” He was surprisingly good at reading between the lines, when he wanted to.

“Three. I got letters for a few years, but no phone calls, no visits. _She_ escaped my dad, but she left _me_ to him.” Jane snorted. “Guess that’s where I got my strong maternal instinct from. Anyway, I hardly know anything about her.”

“Oh, you want to talk about getting left with your father?” He didn’t sound angry, exactly…but he did make a good point.

“Yes, I know you had to deal with the same shit.” That statement made her feel thoughtful more than anything, looking inward and considering her own bizarre upbringing. “Do you ever wish your mom had stayed?”

He looked at her the same way he had when she’d started speaking Latin. “ _My_ mom?”

She cocked her head slightly. “I mean, I assume you had one at some point.”

“At some point,” he answered vaguely. “I never really thought about it much, to be honest.”

“How can you not think about it?” That seemed totally alien to her. “Growing up without a mom…I guess maybe it’s different for a guy. But I always felt like half my identity was missing. I grew up alone in this ice palace with a dad who had _no_ clue what to do with a little girl. No one explained my own body to me till puberty, and he even outsourced that! I mean shit, no one even _played_ with me until Trent came along!”

“Trent?”

Shit. That’d teach her to open up! She lay back down, draping an arm over her face. “My OSI guy. I suppose technically he was my dad’s bodyguard, too, but he didn’t turn up until after Captain Catastrophe abducted me, and he never spent any time with Dad.”

“Ah.” A peek out from under her elbow showed Rusty nodding knowingly. “He was your Brock.”

“More or less. More, I guess, since Dad ignored me unless I acted out, and Trent actually cared. It’d be like if Hank and Dean were closer to Brock than to you.”

“You think they’re _not_?” He was picking at a loose thread on the cuff of his speed suit.

Ouch, that sounded like a sore point. She retreated quickly. “I mean, at least they haven’t, for example, left home, changed their names, and blocked all correspondence with you.”

“Put like that, I almost feel bad for Impossible.”

“Don’t.”

“I said _almost_.”

“Okay then.” She smiled at him and adjusted her foot. “So, hey. Your dad was a secret shitshow too, right?”

Rusty’s expression was carefully blank. “What makes you say that?”

Because he’d turned out like _this_. She’d thought that was obvious. Maybe better not to say that, though. “My father thought really highly of him,” she said instead, which was also true. “So I figured he was a self-centered asshole, too.”

“Ugh, did he ever!” He shook his head in disgust. “The _Boys Brigade_. Group of obnoxious teenagers idolizing him and following him around every chance they got! ‘Ooh, mentor me, Dr. Venture!’ Like his ego needed to be any bigger? He already _had_ a gang of superhero friends, a comic book series, and a line of women out the door. But no, let’s round up a group of young bootlickers too. You know, he’d take them all on trips. God knows where. Hop in the X-1 and off to have some adventure or other. Meanwhile I’d get left home with H.E.L.P.eR.”

Yep. That was _exactly_ what she’d thought. “Wow. You’ve got one up on me. My dad didn’t rub it in my face every time he ran off to a conference or vacation, he’d just go. Most of the time I wouldn’t even notice he was gone until he got back and made me watch the slide show of it for ‘educational purposes.’”

“That sounds like Richard,” he agreed with a nod. “He never acknowledged me all the time he was hanging around my home, either. I wasn’t _that_ much younger than them.”

Jane nodded. “Not quite as bad as ignoring his own _kid_ , but nice to know he’s always been a douche.”

“Let me tell you,” Rusty said, “there are times I would have _loved_ to be ignored! But _my_ dad, he had this rare gift—he’d drag me along all over the planet—oh, and space, don’t forget space!—without ever really paying attention to me. At least you got left safe at home with your Brock.”

“Trent.” She couldn’t stop herself correcting him. “And I wasn’t complaining about getting left home with him. Seeing more of the world than this city would have been cool, don’t get me wrong. But I’d take eating pizza and watching cartoons in the tower over dressing up and attending a boring awards ceremony at some conference center in Brussels that went on for hours and hours and hours until I fell asleep in my seat and got told off for it.”

“Oh, so he _did_ bring you along sometimes!”

“ _One_ time,” she corrected him. “That was enough, trust me.”

“You got off easy,” he assured her, shifting closer as he got into the discussion. “The times I got left behind with H.E.L.P.eR.? Those were the _good_ times. Sometimes he’d leave me with one of his awful friends. You know what the Action Man used to do? He’d wake me up by pointing a loaded gun at my head.”

Jane sat up straight. “What the actual fuck!”

This seemed to please Rusty. “I know, I know. ‘Not today, Rusty,’ he’d tell me. I finally tried complaining to Dad about it, and he said he’d _told_ him to do that! ‘He’s just trying to toughen you up.’ Toughen me up! Like bringing me into constant danger as a kid didn’t do that?”

“I thought that was just for the tv show.” Which she hadn’t watched much of. “How much danger were you actually _in_?”

He lifted his eyebrows imperiously, giving her the impression that she was way out of her league here. “How many times have _you_ been kidnapped?”

When had this become a competition? “Only twice,” she admitted, “unless you count The Monarch’s bullshit back in April. But there were plenty of other attempts, trust me.”

“Ha! Personally, I lost count _years_ ago.”

Jane felt a laugh sneaking up on her. “I’m sorry, are you bragging about the number of times you’ve been abducted?”

“I don’t know, weren’t _you_ trying to brag about how awful your father was?”

“Um, yeah. Because he _is._ At least yours didn’t make you learn Spanish, French, and Latin just so he could have boasting rights about how smart his kid was! Did yours take you in to get your hair professionally straightened when you were four, because he didn’t know how to deal with it otherwise? Did yours buy you nothing but uncomfortable clothes and chemistry sets for your birthday?”

“Oh please, you would have _loved_ a chemistry set!”

She shot him a dirty look, though that laugh was still lurking in the edges of her cheeks, waiting to escape. “That’s not the point.”

“ _And_ ,” he continued, clearly sensing victory, “I can’t remember a time when _my_ father _remembered_ my birthday.”

“Fine, you win that one. But did your father hire you a psychiatrist who wound up seducing you?”

“Ha! I _wish_! My father _was_ my psychiatrist, and he was crap at it.”

Jane tossed her head—at least as much as she could while lying reclined on a bed with her foot propped up. “My dad was so inattentive he didn’t care I was sleeping with grown men when I was fifteen.”

“ _My_ father was so dedicated to keeping women away from me that I didn’t lose my virginity till I was 24!”

The laugh that had been threatening to spill out finally did, in a loud sputtering snort. Which sounded so stupid that she just laughed harder. It felt _good_ to laugh, after the way the rest of the day had gone. She covered her face, shaking in silent laughter.

“What, precisely, is so funny?” She peeked between her fingers at Rusty. A self-aware smirk was tugging at _his_ cheeks, too.

“Just…all of this.” She snorted again. “Competing for the Worst Dad trophy.” The laughter wore off slowly, and she sighed and settled back into her pillows. “Okay, what was the _worst_ thing your dad ever did to you?”

“Worst? Isn’t that a bit subjective?” He considered it, though. “He made me kill a man with a house key when I was a kid, how’s that for you? And one time he forgot me in the jungle for two days. Oh! And you’ll love this, when I was about twelve he _refused_ to pay a ransom on me. Just left me there with Señor Muerte with a bunch of explosives strapped to my chest. That’s pretty terrible, right? But if you ask _me_ , the worst was on my sixteenth birthday, when he threw this big party. Invited all these—”

The sound of knuckles rapping on wood made him pause. Jane sat up on her elbows so that she could see who was standing in the doorway.

Dean, looking nervous and apologetic, raised a hand in greeting. His other hand was holding what appeared to be an old Tupperware container. “Um. Sorry. Billy just dropped this off for you, Jane. He said it’s a salve for your foot…?”

About time! But why was it in a _Tupperware_ container? Because he hadn’t been able to go to the lab, she supposed. “Hell yes,” she said, motioning him into the room. “Awesome.”

“Thank you, Dean,” Rusty told him stiffly. “Billy’s not still here, is he?”

Dean shook his head. “I told him you were asleep. That’s what you told me to tell anyone who came by, remember?”

“Good, good.” This time he gave his son an encouraging smile. “Where are you and Hank off to?”

“Uh…dinner?”

Rusty glanced at his watch in surprise. “Oh, it really is about that time! Where did the day go?”

“Well, first we were worried about the break-in, and then we were worried about Jane, and then everyone was sort of exhausted from all the excitement, and then—”

“I was being rhetorical. Is Brock going with you?”

Jane opened the container of salve and started slathering it on her burn as Dean emitted an angry groan. “Why? We’re not scared of The Monarch, his people are probably busy licking their wounds from this morning anyhow, and no one else bothers you anymore. Besides, we’re too old to ransom.”

“Try telling that to Jane,” Rusty said dryly.

“He never ransomed me,” Jane pointed out without looking up.

“Anyway, I wasn’t _telling_ you that he was going along. I was asking! If I hear any noises downstairs, I’d like to know whether it might be just Brock. You know, before I start panicking.”

“Oh. Right.” Dean sounded embarrassed. “He’s staying.”

“ _Thank_ you,” his father told him, doing an excellent impression of a martyr. “Go on then, have fun. Make sure you take your watches.”

“Like we ever take them _off_?”

“Thanks, Dean,” Jane called as she heard his footsteps retreating. There. The salve, whatever Billy had put in it, stung briefly before bringing a pleasant numbness to the burn. Undoubtedly there were antibiotics in there, too, since walking around with exposed tissue was never a great idea. She snapped the lid back on the container and looked around for something to wipe off the excess goo on her fingers.

Rusty automatically passed her a tissue. “Maybe _we_ should think about having some dinner, too.”

She shook her head as she lay back down into the pillows. “Knock yourself out, but there’s no _we._ You know how much real food I eat.”

“Are you sure?” He glanced over his shoulder to make sure Dean was really gone before waggling his eyebrows in what was supposed to be a seductive way. “Not even if it’s 140 pounds of grade-A American come and get it?”

Jane’s jaw dropped a little bit as she tried to figure out whether she wanted to gag or laugh. “That is _vile_. You know that, right? That phrase makes me want to throw up in my mouth.” No, that didn’t begin to cover how awful it was, she had to say more. “That may be the worst pick-up line I’ve ever heard—and I worked at a club so believe me, that’s saying something. That line doesn’t make me want to touch your dick, it makes me want to run as far away from it as I can get. And this is coming from someone who’s already fucked you. If I were someone you were still trying to seduce, I’d be—”

“Alright, alright, I get it!” Rusty scowled. “You could have just said _no_.”

She shook her head. “No, it’s important that you understand how terrible it was.”

“ _Thanks_ ,” he snapped sarcastically. “What is it you’re doing in my room, again?”

“Resting my leg and complaining about losing my shit job. You don’t need to get in a snit about it, I didn’t say _you’re_ disgusting.”

He continued to sulk. Jane decided to ignore him and focus on the tv instead. The movie was actually approaching its big climax, with beetles and mummies all over the place. But Rusty was _good_ at sulking. After a few minutes of his angry silence, she started to feel marginally guilty. Yes, what she’d said had been absolutely true, and if he ever wanted to get with a woman besides her he’d need to know not to use that line. Really, telling him had been doing a favor both to him and womankind in general.

But she felt guilty anyway. Damn it.

“Look, I just said it because I figure someday, you’re going to want to fuck someone else, and you’re not going to have any luck with lines like that.”

He didn’t answer, but he did turn so that he didn’t actually have his back to her. She tried to think what else she could say that might slap a band-aid on the situation—without apologizing, that was. She had nothing to apologize for.

Before she’d managed to think of anything, he rolled the rest of the way over. “You could have been nicer about it,” he grumbled, continuing to look wounded and sullen.

“Oh jeez.” She stared at the ceiling, exasperated. “Why do people keep expecting me to be nice? When have I _ever_ been nice?”

“You were nice to Dean just now,” he dared to point out. Contrarian.

“I was _polite_ to Dean. There’s a difference. Saying thanks when someone gives you something, that doesn’t take effort. Finding a way to delicately tell you that you desperately, _desperately_ need new material? That takes mental energy I don’t have, especially today.”

Rusty looked at her for a long minute before sighing. “The worst thing about that,” he told her, sounding resigned, “is that it makes sense to me.”

“Of course it does.” She smiled warmly at him for this flash of insight. “You’re broken in just about as many ways as I am. That’s one of the reasons I actually enjoy spending time with you—I don’t have to pretend to be anything I’m not.”

“Hm.” He digested that, stroking his beard thoughtfully, before deciding to accept the lack of apology and stop sulking. “You know, that almost sounds like a compliment.” He smiled slyly before settling himself back against the headboard.

“Hey now,” Jane protested, “let’s not get crazy here.” Saying someone fucked up like her could tolerate his company because he was also a shitshow—how was that a compliment?

“Oh, no, it was.” His smile widened.

“It was not,” she stated firmly. Suddenly feeling a desire to change the subject, she turned it around to something she knew he could talk for hours about: himself. “What did happen on your sixteenth birthday, then? Dean cut us off before you got to the juicy parts.”

He rolled his eyes slightly and shook his head at her phrasing, but he wasn’t exactly reluctant to answer, either. “That’s right! Well. It’s my sixteenth birthday, and Dad invites this _huge_ crowd of people. Most of whom I don’t even know, and none of whom are my age, because who did I really _know_ who was my age? He makes sure to invite all these models and…”

He went on to tell a truly awful story, one which convinced her Rusty’s dead really _had_ been worse than hers. She couldn’t work out whether she liked that or not. She was glad she hadn’t had things worse, but she wanted recognition that her dad was an insufferable jackass, too. The funny thing, though, was how many things about his stories were somehow familiar. Yes, she’d been locked up in her father’s ice palace while Rusty got dragged all over the planet, but so much of the shit they’d survived had been the same. The distant fathers with expectations they could never meet. The isolation from people their own age. The science, the abduction attempts, the losses.

It took Jane a long time to dredge the word she was looking for out of the depths of her brain. Camaraderie. That’s what she was feeling now. Camaraderie. And also maybe some tiredness. The pills and the salve were doing their work, that was good. She yawned and tucked her uninjured leg under her. She’d head back to her room in a minute. Just a few minutes more. Camaraderie.

It was kind of nice.

* * *

Why, Rusty wondered as he watched Jane drool into one of his pillows, did she only ever fall asleep in his room when they _hadn’t_ just made love? Not that he’d had _so_ much experience, but what he did have assured him that was the normal way of doing things. If she’d never slept with him at all, that’d be one thing—she liked her independence. But it did seem a little odd to have her curled up against him, breathing slow and even, and all her clothes still on. She seemed to take them off at the drop of a hat, so having her asleep and fully dressed seemed especially strange.

It was the medicine, naturally. She’d had a rough night, taken the loss of the inventions very hard, she had a painful burn to heal from, and those meds _could_ cause drowsiness. She’d never have fallen asleep in here otherwise.

But she had. And more than that, once she was out, she’d unconsciously shifted closer to him until her injured foot slipped off the stack of pillows to drape over his calf, and her parted lips were practically touching his shoulder.

You really have to start taking better care of yourself, dear, he said silently as he watched her. He was so relieved she was finally done with that silly second job. He’d loathed the idea of her walking around the city at night. It was only a matter of time before Malcom decided to target her again—though her performance today might give him pause. Quite the little firebrand he had here! Carefully, he moved a lock of hair away from her face so he could admire her better. Between her fondness for explosives and those kickboxing classes she attended on weekends, the only way The Monarch would get his hands on her was with tranquilizers.

Unfortunately, that they seemed to have an endless supply of those. Malcom and his henchmen were typically more of an annoyance than a danger, but the idea of Jane falling into their hands again just… _bothered_ him. He’d rather avoid it, and if she wasn’t working at the club anymore, she was less vulnerable. Besides, she never got enough sleep. Yes, she’d probably spend even more time in the lab if she didn’t have to work a second job, but she might learn to rest a _little_ more.

_Someday you’re going to want to fuck someone else._ Did she really think that? Stupid girl. Her hair had fallen into her face again, and he brushed tenderly back. Stupid, damaged, unstable, arrogant girl. He stroked her cheek lightly with the backs of his fingers. She really was a train wreck. And she’d never admit she cared about anyone besides herself. Not at all the sort of woman you wanted to fall in love with.

But it was a little late for that.


	10. Chapter 10

It was July already. How had it gotten to be July? That was easy enough to answer, really—there was some truth to the phrase _time flies when you’re having fun_. Jane’s disappointment over the loss of two months’ work had been bitter, but once her foot was healed and she’d gotten over the shock she’d enjoyed the process of starting over. Buying new supplies, attempting to reconstruct formulas, coming up with new things to try in the process. The greatest frustration was that they hadn’t managed to capture lightening in a bottle a second time to recreate Project Alice. Some part of the equation kept slipping away from them, and after a few days of futile attempts Rusty seemed to have lost interest.

Still, it was fantastic not having to go into the club anymore. It cemented her reliance on VenTech, which she didn’t care for, but she still had some of her first (and only) paycheck from them in the bank and was squirreling away more bit by bit. Not that she had plans to leave, she just hated feeling reliant on any other human being.

Besides, it was worth it, to not have to dodge terrible dancers while carrying beer and cocktails across a sticky floor in high heels. And she was getting eight hours of sleep a night, which felt absolutely luxurious. She had a segment of the fridge dedicated to peach yogurt, which she actually had time to eat. She’d managed to binge-watch an entire show on Netflix, she hadn’t missed her weekend kickboxing and yoga classes in weeks, and she could work late in the lab whenever she wanted.

The only real downside to the extra time was that occasionally the other people in the penthouse would try to intrude upon it. Rusty wasn’t a problem, he understood that when she was in her bedroom she wanted privacy. Brock, despite being almost friendly lately, never bothered her either. But those boys seemed to feel like they could come knocking any time they needed her insight. “As a woman,” Hank was fond of saying, “what would you think if I wore these pants? As a woman, who do you think should pay for a date? As a woman, what’s the worst food I could eat if I’m going to kiss her later? As a woman, what kind of protection do you recommend? As a woman…” The fact that she had no interest in giving him advice on women didn’t seem to stop him, either.

Dean was usually better, only asking her questions when she was in a communal area and typically keeping them to less personal topics. Yet there he stood in her doorway, hands behind his back, shifting his weight awkwardly, looking like he was trying to pick her daughter up for prom or something.

“Yes?” She paused the music she’d been listening to and pulled her earbuds out.

“Um,” said Dean. “Sorry to bother you. Are you busy?”

It was tempting to say yes and make him go away again, but he bothered her so rarely, she was intrigued. “What’s up?”

“Can I, um. Come in?”

“I guess.” He shut the door behind him, but kept standing there, pained expression suggesting he was about to ask her where babies came from. If he did, she was shoving him right back out that door. “Spit it out,” she instructed him impatiently.

“Okay. I was just wondering.” He took a tentative step closer. “Did you always know you wanted to be a scientist?”

Oh jeez. Existential questions from an insecure teenager. Maybe she’d have been better off with Hank after all. “I did, and then for a while I didn’t, and then I did again. Why?”

He fidgeted. “Well, see, when I was a kid, learning in my bed, you know? I thought, well, I always thought I was going to be a scientist. But the older I got and the more I saw, the less I wanted to do any of it. Dad’s stupid speed suits, all the rivalry, all those crazy gadgets no one needs, all that.” He looked at her beseechingly, as if she held some sort of magic answer for him. Well, he was going to be disappointed. She couldn’t even think of a _response_ to that.

“I didn’t want any part of it,” he went on. “I wanted to be my own man. I wanted to be a reporter! I tried working toward that, but it felt like everything kept pushing me back to science. When we moved here, I thought maybe it’d be different. I mean, New York City!” He spread his hands in front of him, painting the scene of a big, exciting new place full of opportunities. Jane hoped she wasn’t going to have to be the one to break it to him that most of those “opportunities” paid minimum wage and cost self-respect.

“I signed up for all these journalism classes at college, but just to keep my dad happy I threw in a science class. Botany. And my professor was actually really nice. He’s been forwarding me articles over the summer, stuff that he thinks I might find interesting.”

That was pretty impressive if a professor was sending him stuff outside of class. Either this professor was a total creep, or he saw some real promise in Dean. She’d never attended enough of her classes to get _any_ positive attention her freshman year. “Cool,” she told Dean, giving him a nod to continue, because damned if she had any clue where this was going.

He perched himself on the very edge of her bed, so that she didn’t have to look up at him as he talked. “Well, the other day he sent this article about a plant that grows in the rainforest which has all these amazing properties. The scientist who wrote it thinks it holds the answer to curing cancer, and she’s been working for years to harness its unique characteristics into something they can medically use. And the crazy thing was that I looked at the name on the article, and I’ve actually _met_ this lady! And she never wore a speed suit or listened to rock music or dealt with villains or ghosts or _anything_ like that, she just used science to try and help people.”

He looked to Jane again, like she was supposed to understand what he was getting at. “Okay?”

Dean sort of winced. “When I read that article, it, well, it kind of hit me. _That’s_ what I want to do!”

She tried to come up with a helpful response to that but kept coming up dry. What the hell did this kid want from her? “So, what’s the problem?” she asked. “Sounds to me like that’s what you want to do.”

“I _think_ it is,” he answered, vacillating between excitement and glumness. “But what if really I’m just giving in? Or giving up?”

Jane drummed her fingers on her knee. “Let me get this straight. You’re saying you think you want to go off into the middle of the jungle to dodge wild animals and live without flush toilets. To try and coax some crazy plant to release its secrets to you. After one year of journalism and botany classes.”

He cringed. “You think it’s a bad idea?”

“Personally, I think it’s fucking insane. But you’re telling me that you think doing would somehow be surrendering to your dad’s expectations?”

“Yes,” he nodded.

“How?”

This time, Dean blinked. “Um…”

He didn’t have a good answer, she could already see that. Just insecurities. She sighed. “Okay, look. Your dad wants you to follow in his footsteps, right? Or at least you think he does? Wouldn’t that mean that he’d want you to stick around here with him? Maybe start working down in the lab with us? Not take off halfway across the world to do your own brand of science in dirt and sweat anonymity?”

“Nnnno….”

“Then there you go.” She crossed her arms and sat back, hoping he’d go away. He didn’t. “Why don’t you try writing this lady out in the rainforest?” she suggested. “See if she can offer you any advice.” Maybe he’d go pen the letter immediately, that would be nice.

He still hesitated. “You really don’t think Dad would, you know…freak out?”

Did he mean freak out as in _be ecstatic,_ or as in _be furious_? And why did he think could predict Rusty’s reactions better than he could? Ridiculous.

She looked Dean dead in the eyes. “For fuck’s sake, kid. If this is really what you want to do, that it shouldn’t _matter_ how your dad reacts. He could open a bottle of champagne, he could try to change your mind, he could howl at the damn moon. So what? If you’re doing something to make him happy or piss him off, you’re doing it for the wrong reasons.” _That_ , she knew from experience. How many things had she done just to piss her dad off? Too many. Way, way too many. “It’s your life,” she reminded Dean. “And you’re the one who has to live with your choices.”

Maybe because she finally sounded like she knew what she was talking about, he absorbed that insight. He cocked his head to the side, nodded thoughtfully, and stood up. He looked like he’d made a decision. Good for him. At least someone could learn from her mistakes.

“Thanks, Jane,” Dean said with a smile. “I’m going to go see what Hank thinks!”

Jane stared out the window, resisting the urge to smack herself in the forehead. Teenagers were the _worst_. 

* * *

“No way. Absolutely not. That’s not possible.” Laughing, Jane shook her head as they stepped off the elevator.

“It’s perfectly true,” Rusty assured her, feeling rather smug about making her laugh hard enough to snort. “You can even ask the boys.” He raised his voice. “Right, boys?”

“What’s that?” Hank asked with his mouth full.

“Where Uncle Jonas came from.” He magnanimously ignored the pizza sauce on his son’s face and the fact that he was still chewing. “Jane doesn’t believe me.”

“Oh, come _on_!” She perched herself on the arm of the sofa, still laughing. “You honestly expect me to believe that your twin brother spent 42 years inside you, came out fully cognitively developed and emotionally mature—and with a _beard_!—swept my stepmom off her feet, built a tech empire, and died heroically saving hundreds of people—and _that’s_ why he was never included in the cartoon about your childhood escapades?”

“Well, no,” Rusty corrected her with a small shrug. “Saving people and having a knack for business and hitting it off with Sally had nothing to do with it. It was just, you know, the show ended thirty years before he was born.”

He sat down by Hank, watching her attempt to hit him with an expression of extreme skepticism before dissolving into laughter again. “It’s totally insane!”

“Well then how would _you_ explain it?” he demanded, crossing his arms and waiting.

She snorted again. “Obviously, your dad was a superficial bastard who would never publicize that one of his sons was born with dwarfism, so he kept you with him in the public eye and left JJ to spend his childhood studying and inventing.”

He had to admit, it was a solid theory. It was a logical conclusion, given her knowledge. It was also entirely wrong. “Nope, sorry.” He spread his palms in front of him in apology, despite not being sorry at all.

Hank took another bite of cold pizza. “Interesting theory, Jane.” He managed to sound arrogant even with partially masticated food in his mouth. “Unfortunately, I have to agree with Pop on this one.”

“Seriously?” She looked between them in surprise. “ _Seriously_?”

“Told you,” Rusty said smugly.

Jane shook her head even as she acknowledged he’d been telling the truth. “Fine, I stand corrected. Guess truth really _is_ stranger than fiction.”

“It usually is,” he said breezily. “Anyway, why would I lie?” Lie about Jonas, anyway. He’d certainly told the occasional fib over the course of his life—there were so many circumstances when it was _necessary._

“Because for some reason you seem to like that awful sound I make when I find something funny?” Putting the finishing touches on her chloroform bomb really had put her in an excellent mood tonight!

“You mean your laugh?” Hank butted in.

She didn’t even sigh before acknowledging him. “Yes. It’s horrible. I sound like a pig choking.”

“Oh, you do not!” He found that little snort she made when she started to laugh very endearing, actually.

Jane pointedly changed the subject, but at least she was smiling as she did so. “What are you guys up to tonight, Hank?”

“Dean’s studying again.” He shook his head in disgust. “It’s the middle of _summer_ , what does he have to study?”

Jane shrugged. “Everyone has something they’re passionate about. I guess he’s found his thing.”

“And I wish _you_ would find something productive to do,” Rusty added pointedly to Hank.

His son scoffed. “I _am_ doing something productive. I just ate four food groups in one go!” As if sensing that Rusty was about to voice disapproval, he tried to turn the tables. “What are _you_ doing tonight?”

This was, however, exactly the opening Rusty had been hoping for. “I was thinking,” he said, looking at Jane, “that we could go out tonight.”

“Out?” She looked more skeptical at that than she had about the story of Jonas’ birth.

“To a show,” he explained.

Her skepticism turned to deep suspicion. “A musical?”

This was the tricky bit. “Technically, yes.”

“There’s no way you need to be reminded that I don’t like musicals.”

“You’ll like this one,” he assured her, trying to put a tempting hint of mysteriousness in his voice.

She raised her eyebrows and crossed her arms.

“Come on, I’ll show you.” He stood, heading for the stairs.

“Rusty, if you’re setting me up to hear that awful fringe on top song again, I swear…” She followed him, though. He smiled to himself as he headed into his bedroom and opened the closet door.

There it was, stacked neatly under the hangers on the right, all ready just in case he actually made it this far. He picked the bundle up and turned back to Jane. “You’ll want to wear this,” he said, offering it to her.

Jane accepted the bundle of clothing, lifting her eyebrows as she carried to over to the corner of his desk and picked up the top items for examination. “Lethal-looking heels,” she observed aloud, setting them down and looking at what had been beneath them. “Elbow gloves with enough red sparkles to blind someone. Very cool.” She set those down on the shoes and proceeded to pick up the fishnet stockings. She made no comment on them, but her lips twitched as she considered them. The only things remaining were the bright red corset and matching panties. Jane held them at arm’s length with her head cocked to the side. Then she set them down and turned back to him. “Okay. You want to take me to the theater. In _that_?”

“Yes, indeed.” Just seeing her in that get-up was going to be worth the price of the tickets, but getting her to the show would be a nice little bonus.

Her lips twitched again. “So, we’re either going to some kind of kinky sex club, or Rocky Horror’s in town.”

“You’re not going to try to tell me that you’ve _been_ before,” he exclaimed in dismay.

The twitches of her lips were looking increasingly like a smile. “No, but I don’t live under a rock, either. _Everyone_ knows about Tim Curry in drag and dancing the Time Warp. You could have just _told_ me we were going to see Rocky Horror!”

“And you’d have said yes?” he asked, borderline sarcastic, hands on his hips.

“Of course I’d have said yes. Get the door.” She stripped off her shirt before he’d even _reached_ the door and followed it with her pants. “I admit it, you’ve got my number on this one. This _is_ the one musical I would willingly go to see.” She switched her red cotton panties for the ones that went with the corset. “Though I’m a little perturbed that you bought all this specifically for me. Kind of creepy.”

Watching her wiggle her way into the corset was magnificent and distracting. Still, he managed a scoff. “Nonsense. I just had those things lying around.”

Jane snorted as she pulled on the laces in the back. “Seriously. How’d you know my size, creep?”

“Alright, fine, I had H.E.L.P.eR. go into your room and check labels while you were in the lab.” She’d probably already suspected that and still seemed to be in a good mood, so no harm in admitting it.

“Wow. Invasion of privacy much?” He caught a look at her face as she attempted to look at her own back. She was most definitely smiling. “Come tie this for me, creep.”

“You know, we don’t need to leave for another two hours.” He took the laces and gave them a perfunctory tug to tighten them before tying a bow.

“I didn’t, because you hadn’t told me yet, but that’s fine.” She sat down on his bed and stuck her bare foot in one of the stockings, pulling it up her leg with practiced smoothness. “I want to see how it all looks in advance.” She clipped the top of the stocking with one of the corset’s attached garters and started on the other foot. “What are _you_ wearing? Or should I not ask? You know what, I take it back. Don’t tell me. It’s going to be awful, and I want the full affect.”

Rusty was somewhat offended. “What makes you think it’s going to be awful?” He’d looked rather good as Dr. Frank N Furter last time he checked.

Jane focused on finishing clipping her stockings in place before answering. “Because you do _not_ have the calves to pull off heels. Pass me those gloves.”

“I’ll have you know I look _amazing_ in heels.” He lifted his chin as he handed her the red gloves. So his legs weren’t quite as nice as hers, so what. Her standards were totally unrealistic.

“If you say so.” She pulled the gloves up to her elbows and slipped her feet into the shoes before walking into the bathroom to look in the mirror. He watched her walk, silently congratulating himself on his choices. It didn’t matter _how_ he looked in his outfit, because everyone was going to be looking at her. Though with any luck, they’d notice that she was _with_ him. This was the caliber of woman he’d always wanted to appear in public beside.

Silence ensued as Jane examined her reflection from every angle. He got the front view when she came out, which was possibly even better than the back. “I doubt you even care about the show,” she speculated as she did a slow spin in front of him. “You just want an excuse to be seen in public with me wearing this, don’t you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Was he really that transparent?

She smiled knowingly but didn’t press the issue. Instead, she tugged the laces loose and kicked the heels off. “Two hours, hm? I need to wash the scent of the lab off me. And heavy make-up, right?”

She was maneuvering her way back out of the corset, and it made her breasts jiggle. “Hm? Oh. Yes, probably.”

Jane glanced at him, and he dragged his eyes off her chest in time to notice a flash of mischief in her eyes. “Enjoying the show?”

He lowered his voice to a sexy masculine growl. “Yes.”

She stepped out of the corset and walked back to the edge of the bed where he was seated, lowering herself into his lap and draping her arms over his shoulders. “How about now?” she asked, shifting closer. “Should I go to the show like this, instead?”

“That, uh. Might be a bit much.” He hadn’t been planning on bringing Brock along, and there was guaranteed to be trouble if she went like that. “At least, for the show.” For right here, however, it was exquisite. He moved to kiss her throat. That soft spot that always seemed to elicit such a good response was just inches away.

“Yeah, I thought so too.” Abruptly and to his disappointment, she stood up and peeled the stockings off. “Okay, I’m going to hop in the shower. You can go eat cold pizza with Hank or whatever.” She paused in the act of pulling on her shirt. “How are we getting there?”

“Limo.” Hatred had been _very_ excited to leave his desk duties and play chauffeur. A little too excited for Rusty’s taste, really, but it wasn’t as though they could take the X-12 to the theater district. There’d be nowhere to park. And he certainly wasn’t going to drive _himself_.

Jane nodded in satisfaction and finished dressing. “And you don’t think we need to worry about security?”

Had he told her they weren’t bringing Brock? He didn’t think he had. His confused pause must have been easy to read, because she responded as if he’d spoken aloud. “You dress Brock up like this, you’ll have a riot on your hands.”

“Please! He’s not _that_ much better looking than me.”

“He’s like catnip for sorority girls. Who will probably be out in force at this thing. Anyway, if we bring Brock along nobody’s going to be looking at us, and that’s not what you want.” She stated it all so matter-of-factly!

“Hatred’s driving us, so he’ll be around if anything goes wrong,” he explained rather than admit her assessment about Brock was correct. “Anyway, Malcom did that thing with the poisonous snakes just last week. I think we should be clear for a while.”

“Probably,” she agreed doubtfully.

“And this way he can keep an eye on the boys and the lab while we’re out.”

Jane brightened at that. She was more protective of the lab than she was of people. “Good thinking! Just make sure you wear your watch.”

“What do you take me for?”

She pulled open the door. “Someone who’s going to help me back out of that red get-up later tonight if I have fun.” Smirking, she headed across the hall to the bathroom.

* * *

Her neck hurt. So did her head. Jane tried to shift position to find her pillow, but it wasn’t there. Neither was the bed. That was probably why her neck hurt, she’d fallen asleep sitting up.

She opened her eyes a crack, peeking out through her lashes. The room was dark and unfamiliar. She didn’t see anybody. There was a sort of damp smell to the air that she didn’t care for. She was starting to suspect something wrong about this whole situation, so she kept her eyes closed and her movements subtle as she tested her limbs. Yep, her ankles were definitely bound together. There was a wooden chair under her butt. Her wrists seemed to be bound behind it.

_Malcom did that thing with the poisonous snakes just last week, I think we should be clear for a while_. Famous last words, Rusty. She should have known better. She _had_ known better, that was why she’d paid a quick visit to the lab before getting into her costume earlier.

Jane listened. No voices. Did she dare open her eyes and get a good look around? Last time the tranq had hit her extra hard and she’d slept a whole day, but she hadn’t been nearly as exhausted this time. She’d been having fun, actually.

Memory worked backward. She remembered doing the Time Warp in a theater with a bunch of people dressed as bizarrely as she was. She remembered a guy dressed as a French maid eyeing her up, Rusty putting an arm possessively around her waist, and her laughing and telling him to lighten up. She remembered laughing in the limo earlier, too, when he told her a long story ( _all_ his stories were long) about the last time he’d gone to see the Rocky Horror Show. She remembered laughing at the sight of him in a black corset and curly wig, telling him he looked totally ridiculous. She remembered being surprised at liking the song _Damn it, Janet_ even though the two leads were stupidly starry-eyed and wholesome.

In short, she’d been having fun. That’s what she remembered. And that was _all_ she remembered, up until the moment she didn’t anymore. Heading to the bathroom. It had been intermission, and she’d been heading to the bathroom, not looking forward to peeing in a public restroom while wearing garters. The whole outfit was sexy but impractical, really.

She was still wearing it. Not the shoes, not the gloves, but the bones of the corset were still restricting her breathing a little. The metal bits of the garters were cold against her thighs. The panties were riding up her ass. Next time she got abducted by these assholes, she was going to be wearing something warm and comfortable, damn it.

She could hear voices now. Very faint, indistinct. Not in the room with her, then. She opened her eyes and lifted her head, preparing to get a good look at her prison. Grey, poorly lit, ancient tiles on the floor. Turning her head to the left, she could make out a line of sinks. Wait. She _had_ been in here before. When she’d had to pee, last time she’d woken up in The Monarch’s basement. Gary had helped her a door down there, and she’d come in this room to relieve herself. They’d put her in a fucking _bathroom_?

If memory served, that would put a couple of urinals to her left. A look confirmed it. That meant the door was right behind her. She craned her head around, trying to get a look.

“Hi,” said Gary, raising a hand in an abortive wave from his position next to the door. She gasped and jerked back in surprise—mainly at discovering she wasn’t alone in the bathroom after all, but also because it was _him_. And now, because he’d managed to visibly surprise her, he had the advantage. She turned her face back toward him and scowled.

“You didn’t sleep as long this time,” he told her when she didn’t respond to his greeting. She continued to glare silently. “Only a couple of hours.” She glared some more, for good measure. “Come on, you had to know we’d wind up here again at some point. That’s why you dumped me, right?”

Thank you for reminding me of that, _Gary_ , she thought, livid. But she said nothing. Hatred had been in the limo, Rusty had had his watch. If it had really been a few hours, Brock would probably be turning up here any minute to break her out and probably break some necks for good measure.

Hopefully they’d only taken her. A little black hole opened up in her the pit of her stomach, leaking out a tiny stream of dread. If they had Rusty, too, she told herself, that meant she’d get rescued twice as fast.

They _would_ rescue her, right? She liked having all her fingers, and she did _not_ want to make another dirty home movie with her ex. Not that she really thought that’d work this time, anyhow.

Rusty would make sure they rescued her. She knew he would.

Unless he was down here, too. The black hole let out another oily belch of dread.

No. She had no right to be scared. She could feel the black choker she’d been wearing still resting against her neck. If she could find a way to get it into her hands, she’d have her latest bomb prototype. She could activate it, and it’d release a cloud of sleep-inducing gas big enough to knock out anyone in the bathroom.

Which would also knock _her_ out. And would do nothing to knock out anyone outside the bathroom. Damn it. And stuck in a chair like this, her kicks wouldn’t do much damage. But she’d think of something.

“So. What’s the plan this time?” She tried to sound bored, like she was only asking because she had nothing better to do. “I hope it’s better than the snakes. You thought a bunch of scientists wouldn’t have antivenom on hand?”

Instead of answering, Gary walked around to the front of her chair. He was wearing the stupid butterfly costume—if she hadn’t seen him in it before, she might not have recognized him. But she had, and besides, his voice was distinctive. “What were you doing going out to a show like that? You made it so easy for him to grab you guys.”

_You guys_. Fuck. She swallowed the knot in her throat. “You don’t get to tell me how to live my life. We took precautions.”

“Take better ones.” He actually sounded…angry. Huh. “I didn’t want you to wind up here, you know!”

“Yeah, I can tell you’re real broken up about it.” Sarcasm was a weak tool, but right now it was the only one she had. “Poor, poor Gary, being forced to kidnap me twice. What an awful life.”

Even just watching the visible half of his face, she saw him wince. Good. She didn’t care if it was his job to wreck her lab and abduct her—no one had a gun to his head. He didn’t get to be the victim when she was the one tied to the chair.

She wondered what they’d done with Rusty. That _you guys_ Gary had just casually dropped kept bouncing around inside her and creating more openings in the leaking black hole. But she wasn’t going to ask. She refused to ask. She’d just sit here silently and glare.

“Where is he?”

Well, so much for that. Fuck.

Gary stared at her in silence before answering. She didn’t like being the one getting the silence treatment. It put all her hackles up. And it gave her brain a chance to come up with all sorts of unpleasant answers. “Why do you care?” he asked, infuriatingly bland all of a sudden.

Care? She didn’t _care_. It was just useful for planning her escape. “He’s my boss and my landlord,” she said, renewing her efforts to sound bored. “If you kill him, I’ll have to find a new job, find a new place to live…it’d be a big pain in my ass. I’d rather not.”

And Gary’s answer definitely meant that Rusty was here somewhere, too. She’d really been hoping she was wrong about that.

Her answer didn’t seem to satisfy Gary. He shook his head and crossed his arms. “What are you still doing with him?”

Good grief, was he just butthurt over the fact that she’d chosen working for Rusty over a relationship with him? Guys always had to make it into some stupid pissing match. “I like my job,” she said with as much patience as she could muster. “Despite certain people sneaking in and fucking up my work from time to time.”

“ _One_ time!” he objected.

Like that made destroying her projects excusable, somehow? “More than enough.”

“You’re not just working there though, are you.” He sounded accusatory. Yep, he was jealous. Of Rusty Venture. Talk about stupid! Just because she had sex with him sometimes? _Gary, I thought you knew me better than that._ “Obviously not, since I just mentioned living there five seconds ago,” she said, deliberately misinterpreting his words.

He was unimpressed. “You know what I meant.”

“You tell me, you’re the perv with the hidden cameras,” she snapped, tired of this conversation. “Which I didn’t tell him about, by the way. You’re welcome.”

Gary hesitated before pushing the top of his mask back, letting her see the rest of his face. Letting her see the wounded look in his eyes. “I just…I don’t get it. We had something, I know it. Something…strong. And you didn’t give a damn about him.”

“Still don’t,” she stated coolly, not looking him in the face.

“Alright, so you don’t care if we torture him?” There was a challenge in Gary’s voice.

“Nope,” she said in the same tone, hoping to call his bluff. “Knock yourselves out.”

He pulled what looked like a jazzed-up walkie-talkie off his belt and pressed a button. “Monarch, this is Viceroy. Ladybird’s awake, over.”

“Who the hell is Ladybird?” said the obnoxious voice of The Monarch through the communicator. “Or Viceroy? Speak English!”

“Me, remember?” Gary retorted. He sounded frustrated. Today was _so_ hard on him, yes, poor, poor Gary. “We talked about this. I was using the codenames. It sounded cool! Over.”

“What the hell do we need codenames for, this isn’t black ops,” The Monarch answered him. “I’m his _arch_ , he knows who I am! And quit saying ‘over.’ You sound like a tool.”

Gary sighed deeply. “Alright, fine. Jane’s awake. And she says go for it, she doesn’t care. And you’re supposed to say over. Over.”

Jane managed to swallow her gasp, but just barely. He wasn’t supposed to repeat that! Especially not where Rusty would hear it! Fuck!

“Oooh, look, I didn’t say over, now this thing’s going to blow up in my hand!”

“It’s just so we don’t talk over each other! It’s _practical_. Over.”

“Did she really say go ahead and torture him? That’s cold.”

“I know, right? Over.”

“Well, since she insists.”

“I didn’t _insist_ ,” Jane protested angrily. “That’s fucked up, why would you say that?”

“He can’t hear you,” Gary told her wearily, holding up the communicator to show that he wasn’t pressing the button.

Rusty’s voice came through the speaker this time. “What are you going to do with that, give me a splinter? Hate to break it to you, Mal, but I’ve had plenty of spl—” The words broke off with a sharp gasp, followed by an audible yelp of pain. Jane pushed her anger and revulsion down deep inside her and managed not to react.

“I’m supposed to torture you, too,” Gary said, slipping the device back onto his belt. “So that he has to hear you screaming.”

She tried not to give any indication of fear, but the periodic grunts and yelps that kept coming from the walkie talkie made that difficult. “You guys are sick. You know that, right?”

Gary grimaced. “You…you could just scream though, you know? Make it _sound_ like I’m hurting you. It’ll be our secret.”

He sounded more like he was begging than offering. She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry, you’re saying you want me to sound like I’m being horrifically tortured, as a form of psychological torture on Rusty. And in return, you don’t lay a finger on me.”

Looking relieved, he nodded.

Jane set her teeth and lifted her chin defiantly. “No.”

“Why _not_?” he asked plaintively.

“Because I’m not your fucking bitch, that’s why not,” she spat. “I don’t feel like it.”

Gary did not look happy. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Then don’t,” she suggested pointedly.

A sharp, full scream came through the speaker, followed by a whimper.

Gary stared at her. “Oh my God, you _do_ care about him!”

“What? I do not!” Ugh, even _she_ could hear the quaver in her voice.

“You do! You totally flinched!”

She swallowed the lump in her throat. “It was loud,” she said, sounding much less concerned this time. Good. “You flinched, too. I promise you, I don’t care.”

“Oh yeah? Prove it.”

Even in these circumstances, she couldn’t let a stupid comment like that slide. “What are you, five? You can’t prove a negative!”

“You could fake a scream.”

“And that’ll prove I don’t give a damn?” she asked skeptically. “Rather than, I don’t know, proving that I like not getting tortured?”

“Well, you just refused to do it, so you must have _some_ reason not to.”

“Because it’s not my job to save you from getting your hands dirty, Gary!” Jane snapped. “You have _hench for life_ tattooed across your stomach, but you can’t handle hurting a woman who broke your heart? Give me a break.”

That must have hit home, because he really _did_ flinch this time. She was about to press her advantage when another scream cut through the room. It was followed by an evil cackle from an undeniably gleeful Monarch. “Not so arrogant now, are you?” he crowed. “ _Now_ you tremble in fear of the Mighty Monarch!”

“I admit it’s not my idea of a good time.” Rusty was definitely sounding the worse for wear. “But neither was eating that ‘omelet’ Hank made the other day, and I made it through _that_. You’re looking peaky, though. Look, if you need a break, I totally understand.”

“You’d _like_ that, wouldn’t you! No, I have something far more diabolical planned next! Are you ready to hear your precious little sex kitten beg for her life?”

“Sex kitten?” Jane demanded, disgust making her forget her fear and anger for a second. Sadly, only Gary heard her—but he made a face that indicated he agreed with her on the term.

Rusty somehow mustered a laugh, though. “Jane? Beg for her life?”

This was clearly not the reaction The Monarch had been hoping for. “Yes! She’s shut up in there with my henchman right now, and I’m sure he’s ready to use the knife I gave him. Aren’t you, 21?” Gary didn’t press the button to answer, instead shooting Jane a pleading look. What, did he expect her to fake bleeding now, too? “He’s probably already getting started,” The Monarch covered. “He can’t wait.”

“Come onnnnnn,” Gary cajoled her, looking even more nervous than she was.

“She’s probably already taken him out,” Rusty said confidently. “And anyway, she’s not _my_ sex kitten, she’s made that very clear. Do what you like to her.”

“Give me a break.” The Monarch was starting to sound frustrated. Apparently this night wasn’t going well for anyone. Cry her a river. “She’s been living with you for months. You were at the theater together—dressed like _that_!”

“I took Dean and Hank to see Rocky Horror, too.” Now that the active torture had stopped, Rusty was sounding more like himself. “And they live with me, too. So does Brock.”

“Yes, but—” The Monarch growled in exasperation. “Fine, I’ll just keep torturing _you_ , then! How’d you like to take home a piece of your own skin, Venture?”

“No, no, by all means, go carve up Jane instead!”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you!”

“Yes! That’s what I’m _telling_ you. You should…” He didn’t so much stop abruptly as trail off into an unsettling silence.

Gary sagged in relief. Bizarrely, so did Jane. Not that Rusty was getting hurt instead of her, though she wasn’t going to complain about her lack of painful injuries. Her relief was tied more to the way he’d tried to throw her under the bus. That was…right. That was how it should be. He wasn’t going to do anything stupid and try to defend her. He was looking out for number one, just like she was.

Her relief at that really shouldn’t have been as profound as it was.

Then the screams started back up again, and it was suddenly hard to feel any kind of relief.

“Can you turn that thing off?” she snarled at Gary. “It makes it impossible to think.”

“That’s kind of the point,” he said, but he turned the volume down. For some reason, that didn’t help. It was still _happening,_ after all. She just couldn’t hear it.

“Okay.” She tried hard to think. “What’s your end game here? You don’t want to hurt me, I’m listening. How do we get out of this?”

“I already said. Pretend I’m hurting you.”

She shook her head. “And then what? You don’t think he’s going to notice that I’m totally unharmed when you guys let us go?” Gary didn’t say anything. “You _are_ letting us go, right?” He shrugged. That wasn’t very encouraging. “Look, either you let us go, or Brock comes here and kicks everyone’s ass rescuing us. You know the drill, right?” She turned his own words around on him. “I don’t want _you_ to get hurt.”

“You don’t?” The sudden hope in his eyes almost made her feel guilty about the lie. Almost.

“Of course not.” She softened her voice. “Gary. I didn’t walk away because I hated you. I was just trying to protect us both.” That was mostly true.

He stepped closer. “You don’t hate me?” Good grief, this was going to be like kicking a puppy.

“I _never_ hated you.” She arranged her face into an encouraging smile. Now _that_ was bullshit. After they wrecked the lab, she had 100% hated him, and she wasn’t feeling particularly warm and fuzzy toward him right now either. But she wanted to get out of there intact, and she had no qualms about lying to achieve it. “I’m sorry I didn’t handle things better.”

He gave her a tentative smile. “It’s okay. My handling wasn’t really the best, either.”

No, it hadn’t been. She dropped her eyes, then lifted them up again to meet his. “I missed you,” she said softly. “I know this is hardly the ideal situation, I know I’ve been difficult…but it’s good to see you again.”

“Then I’m not crazy.” He dropped down onto his haunches—probably the closest he could get to relaxing without sitting down in a urinal. “I was starting to wonder.”

“Why would you be crazy?” A shriek penetrated the wall of the bathroom. Jane willed herself to look sympathetic.

Gary shrugged unhappily. “I was starting to question myself. To think maybe, you know, you never meant any of it. That it was all part of some crazy game you were playing.”

“Oh, sweetheart, no. It was real.” This time the tremor in her voice was intentional. If not for the fact that his boss was torturing Rusty on the other side of the wall, she probably _would_ have felt guilty by now. “I didn’t _want_ to end it.” There, at least that was true. “I almost changed my mind, too. I was so close to calling and begging you to take me back.” Also true, though she was glad she hadn’t done it.

“Really?” He looked up at her, that little bit of hair falling across his forehead, eyes so sweet and earnest. Wasn’t it funny, that three months ago that sight would have sent her hormones off the rail and made her heart skip around in her chest. And now it had no effect at all. She really _was_ a stone-cold bitch.

Jane nodded. Time to bring it home. “That’s why I moved into VenTech Tower. Because I didn’t trust myself not to call you if I was on my own.”

“Would that really have been such a bad thing?” He’d moved closer—his fingertips were nearly brushing her leg now.

“I don’t know.” She turned her head to the side as if she couldn’t stand to look at him. “It’s like some crappy version of Romeo and Juliet, isn’t it? I didn’t see how it could work out, and I was scared.”

“Jane…”

“Don’t.” Her voice was convincingly thick. “You’re supposed to be torturing me, remember?”

“I’m not going to torture you!”

“Tell that to your best buddy out there.”

He groaned and put his head in his hands.

“How long do you think we have till he comes in here to see why he hasn’t heard from you?”

“Probably an hour. It’ll take him a while to get tired of hurting Venture. I doubt he’s noticed I’m not responding yet.”

Charming. “Is there any way you could rebind my arms in front, then? This is _so_ uncomfortable.”

“You’re going to try and kiss me again, aren’t you?”

She gave a tiny, tired laugh. “No. Though if you wanted to, I probably wouldn’t stop you.”

He thought about it for long enough that she heard another evil cackle of laughter through the wall. Eventually, though, he nodded and stood up. “Okay. Seriously though, don’t try to escape, alright?”

“I promise.” She tried to recall the way he’d used to make her feel and make that shine through in her eyes as she looked at him. She then stayed motionless and compliant as he unlocked the handcuffs on her wrists and brought her arms around front to relock them.

She could have waited an hour, or however long it took, for The Monarch and any other henchmen out there to come see why Gary wasn’t responding to his communicator. She could have spent it making out with Gary, who would probably have been willing at this point and who was a pretty good kisser.

But she didn’t _want_ to do that. She wanted to get out of there _now_.

Technically her solution wasn’t going to get her out of there any sooner. But for some reason it still sounded better than the alternative.

“Thanks,” she said sincerely as she tested her increased range of motion. Not enough to make a break for it, but enough to reach her choker. That’d do. As she fingered the small ball in the jewelry, she gasped as though something had just occurred to her. “I think I have an idea! But we have to move quick.” Jane reached out, grabbing one of his hands in hers. “Gary. Do you still trust me?”

He hesitated, but then he nodded. “You’ve never _lied_ to me,” he said mistakenly, clearly trying to talk himself into it. He _wanted_ to trust her. He wanted to believe there was still hope for them. How had she ever thought she could be with someone so idealistic?

“Call The Monarch in here,” she asked, shamelessly pressing her advantage. “Get everyone in here. Please. If I’m right, I can get both of us out of here unharmed.”

“Both of us?” He took a deep breath and nodded again, steeling himself. He took the communicator back off his belt and twiddled the dials before pressing a button. “Dude. Can you take a break? I need you to see this. Over.”

A moment passed. Then— “You really need to stop saying ‘over.’ Alright, what is it?”

“I can’t…you have to see it. Seriously.”

“Can’t it wait? I was just getting out the drill.”

Gary looked to her, and she shook her head urgently. “No,” he told The Monarch, “it won’t last. Come on, you won’t believe it.”

“This better be good,” The Monarch grumbled.

“Bring 12 and 16 too,” Gary added, and switched the audio back off. “How was that?”

“That was great.” She gave him her sweetest smile. “Thanks.”

He fidgeted before putting his hand on her shoulder, leaning down, and saying “If this works…” Whatever it was, he changed his mind about saying it and kissed her instead. She kissed him back, but it didn’t stir any deep feelings inside her. It felt mechanical. No real passion to it.

It was wonderful.

Just to be safe, she didn’t pull back until she heard the door to the bathroom open. As soon as The Monarch and two other henchmen were past the doorway, she grabbed the bomb inside her choker and ran her thumbnail along the side, activating it. The sweet smell of the vapor was already filling the room when she tossed it toward the men, and her last coherent thought was _Brock better get here before we wake up._


	11. Chapter 11

Brock turned up, as usual, with blood splattered across his shirt and his pants ripped. Having already heard all the shouting upstairs, Rusty wasn’t surprised to see him. He was slightly irritated by his timing, though—another few minutes and he would have managed to cut through the ties on his wrists with the surgical blade Malcom had left lying on the table. He would have done it sooner, but his blood kept trickling down his arm and making his hands slip.

“About time,” he hailed his bodyguard from his inelegant position on the floor. “What’d you do, stop for a coffee on the way here?”

“Nah, I couldn’t find anywhere to park.” Brock looked around the basement for signs of henchmen. “Hatred’s been flying the X-12 around in circles for the past twenty minutes.” He scratched the back of his neck, leaving a trail of blood. “Where is everybody? There were only nine guys upstairs.”

Flying in circles for twenty minutes? Didn’t they know how much jet fuel cost? “They all went into that room about half an hour ago. I haven’t heard a peep since.”

“I’ll check it out.” Brock immediately turned and headed in the direction Rusty had jerked his head.

“Oh, don’t mind me or anything,” he called sarcastically after him. “I’ll just stay here and bleed to death.”

“You’re not gonna bleed to death,” Brock said without even glancing at him. “Just stay put.”

Well, what _else_ was he going to do? He considered renewing his attempts to slice through the zip tie around his wrists, but now that the cavalry had arrived it was difficult to find the motivation. The blood loss probably wasn’t helping that. He was worried about Jane, though. He’d _been_ worried about her since the moment Malcom woke him up with a bucket of ice water, and since everyone had gone into that room his concern had only increased. The reprieve from getting sliced up was nice, certainly, but the silence coming from that direction was rather ominous.

Brock came back out with a limp form slung over his shoulder. He dumped her onto the ground next Rusty and took the blade from him, making clean cuts in the zip ties. Rusty looked to make sure she was breathing before he examined his upper arms. The wound wasn’t as large as he’d imagined, but it was certainly bloody enough. He slouched back onto the floor lethargically. “Well? What happened in there?”

“Dunno,” Brock grunted, slinging Jane unceremoniously back over his shoulder. “They were all asleep. Air smelled kinda funny, so I’m guessing some kind of gas.” He leaned back over, grabbing Rusty around the waist and hoisting him up over his other shoulder. It wasn’t the most dignified way to travel, but he accepted the practicality of it.

“They’re all out cold in there?” He shut his eyes. Watching the floor bounce beneath him as Brock ran was making him nauseas. “I hope you kicked him for me.”

“I did.” Brock sounded pleased with himself.

Next order of business. “Where’s Hatred?”

“Right over the street.” It felt like they were going up stairs now. Ugh. “Think you can climb the ladder?”

“Sure, sure,” Rusty assured him, not really listening. Everyone in that room had been asleep. Some kind of gas. That’d be Jane’s work, no doubt about _that_. It was exactly what she’d been working on lately. He wondered where she’d hidden the prototype in her costume. Anyway, it had certainly _worked_. She’d be happy about that when she woke up. Smart of her, too, finding a way to get all of them in one place before she set it off. Pity it had also rendered her unconscious, but she would have known that’d happen when she set it off.

Why would she do that? It hadn’t helped them escape. A possible answer came into his mind, and despite the blood loss and jostling of Brock’s steps, a smile snuck its way onto Rusty’s face.

“She wasn’t hurt, was she?” he asked, just to make sure. He hadn’t noticed any injuries on her—but he hadn’t looked for very long, either. He’d _thought_ he’d convinced Malcom not to torture her, but it was entirely plausible that the henchman had gone ahead with it anyway. Being asleep was undoubtedly better than being tortured.

“Not a scratch on her,” Brock confirmed.

He felt them go through a door, narrowly avoiding smacking his head on the frame. The jet engine became audible. Not a scratch on her, eh? So she was just sitting in there, untouched, and for _some reason_ she’d decided that she’d rather spend the next hour unconscious if it meant she could take out the men who _just happened_ to be preparing to drill a hole through his toe. Funny coincidence, wasn’t it.

Jane could deny it all she liked, but he was onto her. She cared about him.

“Here you go, Doc.” He was suddenly sliding off Brock’s shoulder and just managed to open his eyes in time to grab onto the rope ladder in front of him. He had a vague feeling that his feet would have given out if he hadn’t. And he was supposed to _climb_ this thing? Hadn’t he been through enough tonight?

Slowly, he made his way up and collapsed onto the floor of the X-12. Hatred looked back from the pilot seat. “Good! You’re alright!”

“I most certainly am not,” Rusty snapped weakly as Brock deposited Jane next to him, jumped nimbly through the plane door, and headed to the cockpit. “Either of you have any cloth up there, or am I just supposed to bleed all over the floor?”

“Oh. Right.” Brock’s blood-spattered shirt hit him in the face. “Let’s get going already!”

While they were racing the speed of light back home, he successfully knotted the shirt around his upper left arm. As they landed, he checked over Jane, just to make sure Brock hadn’t overlooked anything. No, she was fine. Still sleeping like a baby.

He walked halfway from the landing pad to the penthouse before his legs threatened to give out this time. It was still dark out—or at least, as dark as it ever got in the city. How much of the night had they lost this time? Since Brock was carrying Jane, Hatred gave him an arm to lean on as they made their way indoors. The old soldier was more inclined to be sympathetic these days, anyway. “Ho boy, that _is_ a lot of blood. Let’s get some fluids in you, eh? What happened to the little lady?”

Imagining what Jane would have to say about that term got him all the way into the living room. “The ‘little lady’ was testing out her latest explosive, I believe. She bought us enough time to—”

“Dad!” The main lights came on, allowing him to see Dean hurrying down the steps from upstairs as Hank flipped down onto the sofa. He really wished he’d stop doing that. “Uncle Hatred called a few hours ago saying your watch had gone dead in the middle of the concert, and when he got home they left in the X-12.”

Thanks for the summary, Dean. He’d have never guessed that Brock and Hatred had left in the X-1, given that’s what they’d just arrived home in. “It was a show, not a concert. Just Malcom up to his usual tricks.”

“That’s what I thought,” Hank asserted with a nod. “But it’s been a—what happened to Jane?”

“Don’t worry about me, I’m fine,” Rusty muttered mostly to himself as Hank pushed past him to check on Jane. Dean followed him. No one even mentioned his bloody makeshift bandage.

“Jane? Jane?”

“She’s okay.” Brock bulldozed them out of the way, heading upstairs. “But saying her name’s not gonna wake her up right now.”

Seemingly just to prove him wrong, Jane groaned.

They had an escort all the way to his bed, which Rusty immediately reclined on. He was still wearing the black corset get-up, but attempting to undo the laces right now would be a bit much on his fingers. Four of them were still throbbing from whatever Malcom had shoved under the nails, and he felt shaky and cold all over.

Without asking, Brock set Jane down on the other side of the bed. She immediately rolled over and curled up in a fetal position.

“Jane?”

“Turn off the fucking light,” she groaned, pulling an arm up to shield her face.

“Alright, show’s over.” Brock shooed the boys back to their own rooms.

“Hit the lights,” Rusty directed him.

“How’m I supposed to treat that cut on your arm in the dark?”

He flapped his hand irritably. “Go make me some tea first. You know, the herbal stuff.”

“Yeah, I got it,” Brock grumbled as he dimmed the lights and pulled Hatred out of the room.

“Thanks,” Jane mumbled once they’d gone. “I take it Brock came?”

“Yes.” He pulled the edge of the duvet over himself. He hated the way blood loss always made you so damn _cold_. “We’re home. You were magnificent.”

She snorted faintly but immediately grimaced in pain. “You ever had a really bad hangover?”

It had been a while, but yes. “I suppose.”

“This is a thousand times worse.”

“At least no one carved a square of flesh off your arm.”

“Wanna trade?”

“Yes, absolutely.”

“Let me know when you figure out how to do that.” She smiled weakly before wincing again. “How long was I out?”

“I wasn’t really watching a clock.”

“Then you’re worthless to me.”

“But I’d say at least an hour.”

Her eyes remained closed, but for a second he saw a real smile through the dim lighting. “Good. I was aiming for an hour.”

“Bravo.”

She didn’t answer, doubling over even harder instead as she started to tremble. “This sucks. I think—I need—ugh.” She rolled off the bed, staggering a few steps in the direction of the bathroom before throwing up on his carpet.

“Are these side-effects what you were aiming for, too?”

Jane wiped her mouth off on the back of her hand and fell onto the bed again. Lovely. The rancid peaches and bile odor of it did nothing to help _his_ nausea, and his carpet cleaning bill was already through the roof this summer. “Yeah. That’s the chloroform in the mix asserting itself.” She clutched at her temples again. “ _Fuck_! At least I know The Monarch’s feeling like this right now, too.”

So. She’d known not just that the bomb would make her sick as well as knocking her out, and she’d still done it anyway. Interesting.

“Brock’s getting tea and bandages. You want anything?”

“Yes. Kill me.” 

“Not a chance.”

She groaned.

By the time Brock came back, her eyes were still closed but she had succeeded in loosening the ties at the back of her corset enough to remove it. That was hardly the way he’d been planning on removing it from her—but then, tonight hadn’t exactly been a raging success, had it?

Brock had reclaimed his bloody shirt and was now surveying the damage. “Yep. Gonna have to trash it. I _liked_ that shirt,” he said resentfully. “What d’ya want me to do about this?”

“Some painkillers would be nice,” he answered acidly. “And antibiotics, I don’t have much faith in the cleanliness of anything in that cave.”

“I mean, like—all this.” Brock gestured to the open wound, which was leaking slowly again now that the bandage had been removed.

“Just put a proper bandage on it and send Billy up to take a look when he gets here.” Stitches wouldn’t be much good in this case, he couldn’t apply synthetic skin on his own, and he certainly didn’t want any field surgery performed by Brock.

“How about Striptease over there?”

Jane was now blindly pulling off her fishnets. “She’ll be fine. Normal side effects. Oh, watch your step over there, though.”

“Thanks for talking about me like I’m not here,” Jane grumbled. “I want some of that tea.”

Brock looked pointedly at the vomit drying in the carpet but shrugged off any objections he might have. “I’ll get another cup.”

“And painkillers,” Rusty reminded him.

“Hey, uh, Doc.”

Hadn’t he left the room yet? “Yes?”

“Next time you’re thinking about going to see Rocky Horror—don’t.” On that note, he did leave.

“I agree,” Jane sighed, sliding under his covers as though it were the most natural thing in the world. “I’ve changed my mind about _Oklahoma._ It’s not so bad.”

“Are you saying you didn’t have a good time?”

She laughed softly. “It was fun up until the second act. Kind of fell apart after that. I didn’t care for the twist ending.”

“You know, neither did I.”

Her lips twitched upward again, but she was shivering violently. “I thought you said if I moved into the tower I wouldn’t have to worry about attacks from The Monarch anymore.”

Had he said that? Impossible. “I believe what I said was that you’d have Brock to rescue you. Which he did.”

“Hmph.” Another spasm of pain crossed her face.

“Oh, for goodness sake.” Rusty sighed and climbed under the covers as well. “Get over here. You’re shaking so hard you look like you’re sitting on an old washing machine.”

“I’m not cold,” she said stubbornly. “It’s just a side effect. It’ll wear off soon.” But to his surprise, she did move closer, pressing herself up against his side. “Holy shit, you’re colder than I am!” She didn’t move away, though, and after a minute the trembling did subside.

Jane shifted again, so that her head was resting on his chest. She was silent so long he wondered if she was falling asleep, and how he could possibly feel happy while he was in this much pain, and what the hell was taking Brock so long with those pills. Then she said quietly, “You’re okay, right?”

“I’ve been through worse,” he answered truthfully.

“Good.” She nodded her head marginally. “Because I need to tell you something. It’s…a little awkward.”

She must have been able to feel it as his heart started racing. Was she actually going to _admit_ her feelings? “Indeed?”

“Yeah.” She paused before continuing, though whether it was due to her headache or a case of nerves, he couldn’t say.

“Go on,” he said gently.

“Well…” Jane took a deep breath. “You scream like a little girl.”

* * *

“There. There! Oh, fuck, _yes_.” Her moan escalated and she grabbed at the edges of the table as the sweet tension in her boiled over through every possible outlet. She might as well have been electrocuted for all the control she had and oh, fuck, this was _so_ good, she wanted this to go on forever.

Very abruptly, it stopped. Jane pushed herself up on her elbows, looking between her knees to see what was going on. “Why’d you stop?” She’d been teetering back and forth on the brink of a ground-shaking orgasm for several minutes, he didn’t get to just _stop_!

“I thought I heard something.” Apparently trying to make up for pausing at a critical moment, Rusty ran his tongue delicately along her inner thigh.

“Yeah. Me. Enjoying myself. Get back to it.”

“It sounded like something else.”

“Probably an echo, this room is huge. Now quit talking and do more of whatever you were just doing.”

“Oh, that was good?” She didn’t need to see his face to know he’d lifted his eyebrows an made that half-smile that he seemed convinced was sexy.

“Rusty!” Sexual frustration clawed at her throat, making the syllables come out jagged and whiny.

“Alright, hold on, let me see…”

He was doing this on purpose! Probably enjoying making her squirm. She sat up again, ready to make all sorts of diabolical threats, but his tongue found that spot again just as she got her hands under her and she sank back down with a happy sigh. A minute later the muscles in her thighs were tight to the point of trembling and she was clutching the edge of the table above her head hard enough to turn her knuckles white. He’d developed this thing he did with just a bit of pressure from his teeth and holy shit it seared through her every time. She was fighting with her body, because her hips wanted to snap forward, but a sharp movement like that would mess him up and—

Her back arched up, leaving the smooth metal surface of the table. “Fuck, yes, yes, _yes!”_ Her words deteriorated as ecstasy filled her and didn’t let up. “Holy _shit_.” She relaxed slowly, closing her eyes and letting her breathing return to normal. “Okay, yeah, you get anything you want after _that_.”

“Is that a fact.” Ugh, she could _hear_ him smirking, but she didn’t care right now.

“Yes. Provided it’s sexual, I mean. I’m not making you breakfast.”

“I wouldn’t want you to. I saw what happened when you tried to make a bowl of oatmeal.”

“Ha ha.”

“Now I understand why you hardly ever eat.”

“You are so full of shit, I ate a slice of pizza just the other day!” She propped herself back up and got a view of the doors behind Rusty’s head. The doors themselves weren’t very interesting, but the diminutive scientist standing in front of them was. “Hey, Billy,” she called, waving.

Rusty grabbed his glasses off the neighboring table and shoved them back on as he turned around in surprise.

“I could have lived my whole life without seeing that,” Billy lisped hollowly.

“Right, that’s why you stayed and watched.” She slid off the table and picked up here clothes.

“I _knew_ I heard someone,” Rusty crowed to her. “And Billy, don’t be such a prude. It’s after hours.”

“ _And_ he owns the place,” Jane pointed out helpfully.

“But…but…you live _right upstairs_ ,” Billy complained sorrowfully. “It’s not like you had to go far to get a bedroom!”

“Oh no, we came down here _from_ the bedrooms.” She always felt so cheerful post orgasm. “So what’s up?”

“I came to grab the info for those panties. I mean patents! I forgot them earlier.” He didn’t seem able to let the other thing go. “But…but… _why_?”

“You’ll understand when you’re older,” Rusty told him, overcompensating for his embarrassment by being condescending.

“I’m already older than she is!”

Jane giggled as she finished pulling her jeans on. “If you’re older than me and are still traumatized by seeing a woman naked, I think that’s your problem, not mine.”

“I didn’t—I’m not—that’s not the _point_!” Billy sputtered indignantly.

“It’s not?” She blinked innocently. “Oh! Look, I’m sorry I didn’t invite you over to help. You should have let us know you were here!”

As she’d expected, this only disoriented the poor guy more. “I—you’re—she’s not serious, is she?”

“No,” Rusty said, shooting a glare at her. “She’s _not_.”

“You didn’t bring Pete with you, did you?” she pressed, only half joking. “I can still take my pants back off.”

“That’s not funny, Jane,” Rusty said sternly, shoving her shirt at her.

She sighed dramatically and tugged it over her head. She hadn’t done two guys at once since her first (only) year of college. She probably would have enjoyed it. But she was in too good of a mood to risk pissing Rusty off by suggesting it seriously. He’d only get more possessive, which would force her to remind him that she wasn’t his property or even his girlfriend, and he’d get all cranky, and it just wasn’t worth it.

“Listen, Billy, while I’ve got you here, nobody cleaned the mice cages earlier.” Rusty put a hand on her back and guided her firmly toward the elevator.

“Why can’t you do it? You’re already down here!”

“Yes, but this is clearly awkward for you, so we’ll get out of your hair.” He pressed the button to go up.

Billy knew what was going on and was having none of it. “I was just going to grab the data and leave!”

“No, no, I wouldn’t want you to have to rush.” The doors opened, and Jane stepped inside with him, trying not to laugh.

“I am not cleaning those cages!”

“Don’t be silly, it’ll only take you a minute. The mice are practically yours, anyway.”

“You two are terrible people!” Billy called as the doors closed. “You know that, right?”

Jane snorted as the elevator began its ascent. “Think he’ll actually clean them?”

“Oh, definitely.” Rusty’s mouth curved upward in a smug smile. “You wouldn’t _believe_ some of the things I’ve gotten him to do over the years.”

She folded her arms and leaned against the nearest wall. “Go on.”

“Well, obviously he’s volunteered to test out loads of experiments.”

“Obviously,” she nodded.

“Including this _giant_ suppository—” He couldn’t even get through the sentence without laughing. “—that modulated body temperature.”

Still feeling great from her fresh dose of dopamine, Jane smothered a giggle. “How big, exactly?” He held his fingers apart more than a few inches, and she felt her eyes widen. “Damn, why didn’t you just fuck him in the ass?”

Rusty’s face contorted in disgust, and he shuddered. “One, that wouldn’t modulate his body temperature _what_ soever. And two, I think I can do a little better than _Billy_.”

“Full of yourself, aren’t you?” She grinned.

“No, but _you’re_ going to be.” He moved in closer just as the elevator reached their floor.

“I’m going to be full of myself?” Jane asked, mouth twitching with mischief.

“Full of _me_ ,” he corrected her, sliding his hands around to her ass. “And while we’re on the subject of anal, I believe you said I get anything I want…?”

_There_ was something she hadn’t done in a while! Her grin widened. “Alright.”

“Really?” He actually sounded _surprised_. What kind of uptight bitch did he think she was?

“Mmhm.” She spun around, standing on tiptoe to press her ass against his groin. “Right now?”

“You’re utterly insatiable, aren’t you?”

“Nah. I’m just enough of a nihilist that I know how to seize a moment.”

The elevator doors opened. Alright, maybe this wasn’t exactly the _best_ moment to seize. “Tell me more about Billy being a giant pushover,” she suggested instead, walking in front of him so that he got a good view as she headed to the kitchen for a glass of water. Rusty followed almost absently, looking at the various take-out leftovers and vegetables in the fridge before closing it again.

“Wonder where the boys went,” she said aloud, since no more amusing stories were forthcoming. Hank and Dean had both been in the living room the last time they’d past through there.

Rusty was looking in the fridge again when she set down her empty water glass, as though he’d expected something to change in the last thirty seconds. “I’m not…” He shook his head and closed it. “Do _you_ think I’m a terrible person?”

It took a second before she even understood where the question was coming from. Billy, that was it. He’d said they were terrible. It had been funny. Why had Rusty suddenly decided to take it seriously?

And how the hell was she supposed to answer it? Like _she_ was a good judge of character? After the things she’d done, she had no right condemning anyone else for anything—but she still _did_ , any time they pissed her off. Hm, maybe that was her answer.

“No,” she said thoughtfully, shaking her head. “ _I_ might be, but you’re okay.” Not a hero, certainly, but probably better than _her_. “I mean, what’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?” It couldn’t top hers, no way.

He looked at her for a moment before sinking down into one of the kitchen chairs staring at the table. “Impregnated the teenage head of my fan club?” He sounded as though he expected her to be scandalized.

She wasn’t. “Psh,” she snorted derisively, pulling out the chair opposite. “I lost my virginity to a grown man when _I_ was fifteen, and I turned out fine!”

Rusty’s eyebrows went up. “You just said you’re a terrible person.”

Touché, Dr. Venture! She conceded the point with a small shrug and spread hands. “Yes, but not because of _that_.”

“Alright then.” He seemed somewhat calmer, as if her reassurances actually proved anything. “What have _you_ done that’s so awful?”

She’d known this was coming. She’d walked into the conversation anyway. Maybe that meant that deep down, she wanted to get it off her chest. “I got my boyfriend killed.”

There was a short pause. “Got?” Rusty asked carefully. “Or _had_?”

The question surprised her into a slight, bitter smile. “Got. But that’s bad enough, right?”

He sat back in his chair, unimpressed. “Oh, I don’t know. I’ve gotten plenty of people killed. Most of them were trying to kill _me_ , but still. It doesn’t keep me up at night.”

Jane refused to be outdone on this one. “Well there’s your difference. They were trying to kill you. They weren’t someone you loved.”

“Jane.” He leaned forward with a heavy sigh. “Dean and Hank have died fourteen times.”

Um…. “What?”

“You heard me. My sons. Have died. Fourteen times. _Fourteen_.”

“I’m pretty sure they were alive just this morning,” she said, wondering whether the promise of anal sex had somehow broken his brain.

He shook his head. “They’re clones. They’re still Dean and Hank, sure, but they’re clones.”

Jane glared at him. “You have _human cloning technology_? And you’ve been holding out on me?”

“I’m baring my soul here,” he snapped back.

“Okay, why would you not list ‘I let my sons die fourteen times’ as the worst thing you’ve ever done?”

“I didn’t think of it right away!”

“You didn’t _think_ of it right away?”

“It’s been a few years since it happened!”

“A few years? I thought about Trent every day for two years, and every time I kissed a guy for the first year after that.”

“Oh, so now I’m the terrible person after all?”

“I think we’re _both_ terrible people.”

Rusty digested that for a moment, then sniffed disdainfully. “Well. At least I’m in good company.”

She smiled at him. _That_ was why this place felt like home, when you came down to it. It wasn’t the bright colors or the open spaces or the lab. It was the fact that everyone here was almost as fucked up as she was.

“So, who was this Trent guy? You’ve never mentioned him.”

Ah. For a minute there she’d thought she was going to dodge the full confessional after all, but it was almost a relief that he hadn’t dropped the subject.

“I’m fairly sure I _have_ , actually. He was my bodyguard. Remember? You referred to him as ‘my Brock?’”

“That was your _boyfriend_?” Rusty yelped. Jane winced. “You mean to tell me you were _sleeping_ with your Brock?”

She took a deep breath and looked out the window. “Yes. That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

Rusty thought about that. “He knew you were fifteen, then.”

“Yeah. He’d known me since I was eight.”

“Alright, now _that’s_ terrible. At least Nikki told me she was twenty! Sure, I didn’t believe her, but I thought she was at least eighteen.”

“Hey, fuck you! I _loved_ him!” Rusty didn’t have the right to call him terrible!

“Well of course you loved him, he was practically your surrogate father!”

“You sound just like that bitchy therapist my dad got for me!”

He blinked in surprise. “You’re not saying he _knew_ about it?”

“No, no, the forced therapy was after everything. He _should_ have known, though. He never caught us in the act, but if he’d paid any attention at all he could have figured it out.”

“My god, you really did have a worse father than me!”

She laughed. It felt weird, talking about Trent and laughing. “You’re probably right. Letting me fall in love was a huge parenting mistake.”

“That’s hardly what I—”

“I know what you meant,” she cut him off. “But I’m not interested in playing the victim, not when I’m still here and he isn’t.”

Rusty hated being interrupted, but he could read her mood at the moment well enough that he did nothing but purse his lips in displeasure. “Alright then. Why was it such a mistake to let you fall in love, hm?”

“Because I totally lost my head,” she admitted bitterly. “When I told Trent I loved him, I was all in. He became the center of my world.”

“Oh, come on now, that’s _everyone_ the first time they fall in love.” Interesting, he sounded like he was speaking from experience there. She’d never really considered Rusty ever having feelings that profound for anyone besides himself.

“Well, I hate it,” she declared boldly, electing to keep the focus on herself for the time being. She needed to get this out now that she’d started. “Being madly in love, it…well, I mean, it’s right there in the phrase, isn’t it. _Madly_ in love. It makes you crazy. I don’t like crazy. I hate feeling like my heart’s in my throat just because someone looked at me a certain way. I don’t like my happiness being tied to anyone else’s well-being. Because you could wake up one day and they’ll be gone.”

He was listening silently, head tipped to the side a bit, eyes intent on her. It was odd to see him this interested in any story that didn’t revolve around him. “What happened?”

“What do you think happened? He was OSI. How many of them die in their sleep at 92?”

Rusty put up a single finger, halting her. “Ah, but you said _you_ got him killed.”

Jane gulped and went back to staring out the window at the falling darkness. She wanted to get this out, but looking at anybody while she was doing so was too much. “Of course I did. I was seventeen and stupid. I did something dumb, for _him_ , because I was so fucking crazy about him, and wound up walking right into a trap. He tried to save me. And it killed him. The end.”

Something brushed against her little finger, and she looked away from the window to see what it was. Rusty’s hadn’t done anything as blatantly sympathetic as try to embrace her or hold her hand, thankfully. But his arm was stretched out on the table, fingers close to hers. “Are you telling me that the worst thing you’ve ever done was acting like a lovesick teenager, when you were a lovesick teenager?” He sounded patronizing, almost bored.

“I’m an Impossible. I can’t afford to be lovesick and stupid.”

He removed his hand from the table and leaned back in his chair. “Alright, but from what I’m hearing, a man—how old?”

“Thirty-one. When he died.”

“A thirty-one year old man, who was sleeping with an underage charge he had wrapped around his finger, failed to do his job of keeping her safe. Then he failed to do his job of rescuing her and got himself killed in the process.”

She bristled, responding through clenched teeth. “You make it sound like it was _his_ fault.”

Rusty spread his hands. “No, I’d say it was the fault of whoever tried to kidnap you. But look—Brock, he’s like family. If he got killed protecting Dean or Hank, do you think I’d blame them for it?”

Jane crossed her arms defiantly. “Yes.”

He considered that. “Alright, fine, they _do_ tend to get themselves into trouble, and it’s very annoying. But that’s also _why we have a bodyguard_. If we Ventures didn’t need protecting, Brock would be off playing secret agent man or something even more dangerous for the OSI. _They_ chose this line of work. You and I, we didn’t choose to be born into this kind of life, did we?”

“I guess not,” she acknowledged reluctantly. That was a mistake, and she knew it instantly. You couldn’t give Rusty an inch, or he’d act as though you’d given him a mile and start gloating about his victory.

True to form, he smiled. “Well then! There you have it.”

“I’m sorry, what did you just prove beyond my not choosing to be born?”

“That you never stood a chance,” he stated as though it were obvious. “From the day you were conceived, you were doomed to a life of misery, publicity, failure, and loneliness. You thought changing your name could get you away from that? The damage was already done. You had parents who weren’t interested in you as a person and villains who saw you as a pawn to hurt them. You were totally isolated, so naturally you fell head over heels for the only person to show you any affection. And then you lost him because _he_ chose a dangerous job.”

“And no way I was getting any sympathy from my dad even after that,” she added, forgetting that she was letting him win, “because he’d just gotten a hot new wife and superpowers. He just threw some crappy therapists at me and called it good.”

“Precisely.” He looked incredibly smug, but this time she didn’t find it irritating. “So please, explain to me how any of what happened was _your_ fault.”

“Because,” she said stubbornly, secretly hoping that he’d continue to prove her wrong.

“Oh come now, Jane.” Rusty shook his head in what was either sympathy or disappointment. “You’re smarter than that.”

She looked out the window again. “No I’m not.”

“Fine, be stubborn.” He stood up and pushed his chair in. “Walk around hating yourself, it’s no skin off my nose.”

“Where you going?” she asked, slightly wounded by the sudden dismissal.

“To the grocery store, apparently. There’s nothing edible in the fridge.”

“I’m pretty sure I saw a whole bag of carrots and some apples.”

“I meant real food.”

“Wasn’t that a container of wings?”

“No. It _used_ to be, but now it’s holding a bunch of bugs for Hank’s iguana. Would you like some?”

“Since when does Hank have an iguana?”

“Since Monday,” Rusty sighed. “Tell Brock I ran to Wegmans, would you?”

“Sure.” She rose from the table, too. “Get me some more almonds, would you?”

His expression indicated this was some great favor she’d requested. “Alright. Anything _else_?”

“Yeah.” She hesitated, feeling strangely nervous before stepping quickly forward and wrapping her arms around him. It had been so long since she’d hugged anyone she’d almost forgotten how. It felt alien to her. The way Rusty stood frozen in surprise didn’t help. Oh well, fuck it. “Thanks,” she said lamely, pressing the side of her face into his shoulder. “You _are_ a good person.”

That accomplished, she coughed and hurriedly stepped back. The look on his face made her uncomfortable, so she turned and headed toward the stairs. “Though I still can’t believe you didn’t tell me you had cloning technology.”


	12. Chapter 12

“I don’t believe this!” Jane stalked back out of the bathroom in a shirt, panties, and a nasty disposition. “I was in there to pee half an hour ago, and there were towels. Now that I need to actually take a shower, they’ve all mysteriously vanished.”

Dean opened his door to see what the fuss was about. “They were there last I knew. Sorry, Jane.”

“Check Hank’s room,” Rusty called without bothering to open his door—or get up, most likely. “He’s probably using them to make a fort or something.”

“No,” Jane said, balling her hands into fists as she walked down the hall. “It’s that damn robot! I told you he hates me!”

“You mean H.E.L.P.eR.?” Dean asked with concern. “But why would he take all the towels?”

“Because he knew I was doing yoga in my room, so I was getting all sweaty, and I like to shower before bed anyhow!” She started down the stairs. “At least I checked before turning on the water, or I’d be trying to dry myself off with the bathmat and a roll of toilet paper! H.E.L.P.eR.! Where are you, you metal shithead?”

H.E.L.P.eR. rolled into the living room from the kitchen, drying his claws as though he had just been doing dishes. They stared at each other. He made a brief whirring sound.

Jane put her hands on her hips. “What’d you do with all the bath towels?”

H.E.L.P.eR. emitted a series of bleeps and chirps.

“Oh, really?” Jane demanded, glaring daggers at him. “You just _happened_ to throw them all in the washing machine right before bed?”

H.E.L.P.eR. beeped and started rolling away again.

“Bullshit!” she retorted, following him as he retreated to the kitchen. “Give me one!”

The robot chattered at her as he carefully picked up a plate from the sink.

“You’re serious,” she fumed. “You actually put them all in the wash just to spite me.”

More bleeps. H.E.L.P.eR. placed the clean plate in the drainer.

Jane’s jaw dropped a little bit. “Say that in front of him, why don’t you?”

Dean had followed her down the stairs. “What are you guys talking about?”

“About getting H.E.L.P.eR. some help for his jealousy issues. Excuse me. I’m going to go see if he left any of the towels in your dad’s bathroom.” She cast one last dirty look over her shoulder. “Maybe I’ll invite him to shower with me while I’m at it!”

“Ewww,” Dean said, sounding profoundly sad. Hopefully he wasn’t the only one who didn’t care for the image. Fucking robot. Everyone else in the penthouse had gotten used to having her around without feeling threatened, why couldn’t he?

Dean caught up to her before she reached the bottom of the stairs. “Can you wait a second? I wanted to, um, talk to you about something.”

She raised her eyebrows but stopped walking. “The plant in the jungle thing again?”

“Yeah. See, I did write Dr. Quymn like you suggested, and I got a message back a few weeks ago. She invited me out to come intern with her, work as her assistant. She was really nice.” He took a deep breath. “And I accepted. I’m supposed to leave this weekend.”

“Holy shit.” Jane whistled under her breath. “So is Brock flying you there?”

Suddenly the kid seemed extremely interested in his feet. “I haven’t asked him.”

“Why not? You have four—” She stopped as understanding dawned. “You haven’t told him yet.”

Dean shook his head. “He’ll tell Dad. I kind of, well, I was hoping to keep it a secret until the last minute.”

Yeah, that would go over like the Hindenburg. “Did you at least tell _Hank_?”

He sure did find his feet interesting. “Of course I did.”

“And?”

“He called me a nerd.”

That sounded about right. She sighed. “So what’s your plan?”

“Hank’s going to fly me there and then head home. I was hoping, if Dad notices we’re gone…you could tell him?”

“Does Hank know _how_ to fly the X-12?”

“…it has auto-pilot.”

She literally put her hand on her face at the idiocy of it. “You are going to _crash_ into the _ocean_. That is the stupidest plan I’ve ever heard. Not to mention that even if you pull it off, your dad could easily hop in the jet himself and go drag you home by your ear. Frankly, with a plan that dumb, I think you’d deserve it.”

Dean looked mortified. “What do I do, then?”

Again, Jane sighed. How did she get dragged into this? A teenager asked you for advice _one time_ and suddenly you were their mentor. Alright, what would _she_ do in his position? Not talk to her dad, that was for sure. Rusty wasn’t the dickhead her father had been, but that wouldn’t matter from Dean’s point of view. He just wanted out of the super science life, and she could relate to that. Hiding out in the jungle was a pretty solid idea in that regard, but cutting and running was a dumb way to do it.

She squeezed her eyes shut and scrunched her face up in distaste, because she knew the best solution. “Fine,” she growled, opening her eyes, “you guys put the joy ride on the back burner, and _I_ will talk to Rusty.”

Immediately, his face lit up. “You will?”

How had this become _her_ problem? All she’d wanted to do was science, for fuck’s sake. Now she had robots stealing her towels and college kids treating her like their mommy. “Yes,” she said through clenched teeth. “And he’s going to fly you there himself, and he’s going to be happy about it, and you will never ask me for anything else again. Got it?”

In answer, and catching her completely off guard, Dean flung his arms around her. “Thank you!” He released her before she’d even had a chance to process what was happening. “I’ll guess I better go tell Hank he doesn’t get to fly the X-12 after all.”

For some reason, Jane smiled at him. “I think you’ve got the harder job there.”

“You’re probably right,” he told her, enthusiasm undimmed, “but I’ll take my chances.”

He ran off, leaving her to try and figure out the best way to tell Rusty that his son wasn’t going back to college in two weeks, but was in fact leaving to do botany in the middle of nowhere in four days. She’d need to do it at a time when he couldn’t stalk out of the room to find Dean and start talking at him. And a time when he’d be in a good mood. _Not_ in the middle of sex, though. She wasn’t going to sacrifice an orgasm just to help Dean out.

She plodded slowly back up the stairs, turning it over in her mind like an experiment. Different variables, but there could still be some volatile reactions if she wasn’t careful. She could just _see_ Hank bursting into the room to ask her why she’d sabotaged his plans to fly the X-12 to the Amazon. Better do it soon, then, before anyone else did something to screw it up.

It had been months since she’d bothered to knock before walking into Rusty’s bedroom. He was sitting at his desk reading something on the computer when she came in. “H.E.L.P.eR. put all the towels in the wash,” she said by way of greeting. “Did he take yours, too?”

“Probably.” He flapped a hand at her without turning away from the screen. “Go ahead and look if you want.”

She leaned over his shoulder instead, irritated at being virtually ignored. “Anything interesting?”

“Proposed changes and improvements for the latest version of the jWatch.” His eyes moved down the screen, but his hand went up to his neck, rubbing between his shoulders. Jane’s brain whispered _eureka_ and she smiled. “The Captain forwarded all this stuff to me for approval. Isn’t that what I pay _him_ to do? Oh, here’s another.” He scribbled what she assumed was his signature on the touch pad of his laptop and resumed scrolling.

“Built-in pedometer?” Jane asked, resting her hands on his shoulders as she leaned closer to the screen. “That’s a good addition. Damn, how long have you been at this? Your shoulders feel like they’re made of knots.”

“Hours,” he said mournfully, which meant it had probably been forty-five minutes at most.

Regardless of the amount of time, the tension in his shoulders was real enough. “Okay, you’re taking a break from the corporate crap,” she said firmly, spinning his chair around for him so that it’d be easier for him to get up.

He could have complained or objected, but she’d already suspected he wasn’t going to. And to her satisfaction, he stepped away from the desk and dropped onto the bed, rubbing at his neck again. “I suppose I’ve earned a bit of a break,” he conceded. “That chair is doing _no_ favors for my back.”

It was a deluxe ergonomic desk chair that had probably cost over a thousand dollars.

“Lie down,” Jane ordered impatiently.

“I really don’t think—”

She cut him off. “Just lie down. On your stomach. I’m going to do something uncharacteristically kind and thoughtful.” As she spoke, she made her way around to the bedside table, which she knew from experience he had a bottle of massage oil stashed in. Not that he’d ever used it as anything other than lubricant, at least to her knowledge. “And take your shirt off.”

“I’m not wearing a _shirt_ ,” Rusty retorted primly. “It’s a speed suit.”  
“Do you want a back massage or not?”

“Oh!” He undid the buttons on the thing faster than she ever could have, stripping down to just his underpants and one of those awful fake shirt-collars he liked to wear. Dickeys, that’s what they were called. Even the _name_ was terrible.

“That stupid thing, too, unless you want oil in it.” He complied, removing his glasses for good measure before stretching out on his stomach. Jane put one knee on either side of his thighs so that his back was directly in front of her and poured some oil into her hands. Not that she had much practice giving out backrubs, but this seemed like the best position for it. It was also, not coincidentally, the best position for stopping him from getting up and marching out of the room, should the mood strike him. She was fairly confident that if push came to shove—literally—she could hold Rusty down.

“So,” she said, pressing her palms into his pale shoulders and sliding them slowly outward, “I had an interesting talk with Dean earlier.”

*

“You think they’re there yet?” Hatred propped his booted feet up on the coffee table and took a swig off his beer.

Rusty glanced at his watch before picking his own drink delicately off the table and away from Hatred’s boots. “If they aren’t yet, I expect they’re close.” This was the third time the sergeant had asked him that particular question. It was, in fact, why he’d decided drinks were in order. They were out of Kahlua, so he’d had to settle for making himself a sidecar, but Hatred seemed perfectly happy with a bottle of whatever stuff Brock kept in the refrigerator.

“I’m kinda surprised you didn’t want to go with ‘em,” Hatred remarked. This wasn’t the first time today he’d said _that_ , either.

Feeling very put upon, Rusty stifled a sigh. At this point, he _would_ have been better off facing Tara and that awful Jimmy person again rather than spend all day entertaining a retired villain. “If Dean wants to feel like he’s striking out on his own, the last thing he needs is his father there as he settles in.” Honestly, he felt like he was trapped in some cycle of déjà vu. He checked his watch again, wondering when Jane would decide to come back up from the lab and save him from this tedium.

“Yeah, but.” Hatred paused to scratch his head. “You’re the reason he _knows_ this lady, right? Seems to me like you’d wanna, I don’t know, pop in and say hello?”

This had to be because Brock had escorted the boys to the Amazon. Hatred was unduly fond of them and had wanted to be the one to go—but Brock had been there before and had known the boys longer, and _someone_ had to stay home and guard the tower. “Look,” he answered disdainfully, “just because _you’re_ raw about staying in New York doesn’t mean _I_ have to be.”

“I ain’t raw,” Hatred protested, contrary to all the evidence. “I’m just confused.” Well, _that_ was nothing new. “It seems like you oughtta be there. You _sure_ you’re okay with him going?”

Ah, now there was the real question. And he _was_ , at least for the most part. Jane had been very convincing, articulating all the points why it was necessary to let the boy feel as though he were in control of his own destiny. Rusty could certainly understand Dean’s desire to escape the city, the company, the villainy, and he supposed he didn’t have a real right to complain about his son running off without finishing college. None of the really brilliant scientists wanted to be stuck in a seat, regurgitating facts with a group of morons. Dean wanted to be out there doing it himself, and he respected that.

And if really pressed, Rusty would even have admitted that the idea of Dean studying under Tara was somewhat reassuring. He didn’t _like_ it, exactly, but at least he knew his son would be with someone who knew how to handle herself. Tara had famous parents and had chosen to run off into the jungle and go adventuring on her own, so she’d be a good mentor for Dean. He would probably learn survival as well as science, which was a skill he could desperately use. Really, the boy couldn’t walk across the living room without cutting himself, and he wanted to go live with free-roaming snakes, angry natives, and poisonous plants? If he hadn’t known Tara would be there, he likely would never have let him go.

All the same, though… He’d always imagined Dean following in _his_ footsteps. Carrying on the Venture legacy, inventing, taking over the company someday. _He’d_ wanted to be his mentor, and it stung a little bit. And besides all that, he would rather avoid seeing Tara Quymn again. That unfulfilled sexual tension was always going to be hanging over them, and it was hard to forget the way Horace had accused him of breaking her heart. As though it had been _his_ fault! It was her horrible bodyguard who had put a kibosh on the whole thing. Rusty had no interest in getting in the middle of _that_ mess.

Anyway, he had Jane now, and if all of them had gone to see Dean off it would have been painfully awkward. He’d been there to wave when they took off from the landing pad, wasn’t that enough?

“Yes,” he told Hatred in a tone that hopefully also said _mind your own business_. “I’m proud of him.”

“Yeah, me too.” Hatred nearly drained his bottle. “You got good kids there, Doc.”

Rusty smiled thinly as he nodded, accepting the compliment.

“I gotta admit,” Hatred went on, stretching himself out to take up far too much of the sofa, “it’s nice being back on the job again for a little while. Working security’s alright, but it’s—aw shoot, sorry about that.” He’d attempted to set his beer bottle down on the coffee table but done a poor job; it toppled back over the edge and onto the carpet as soon as he removed his hand.

“Yes, I can see how you’d miss working this hard,” Rusty said acidly, reaching down to pick it up before all the remaining liquid spilled out and stained the carpeting.

That was the only reason the dart went over his head instead of into his neck.

The crash came first. Rusty instinctively dropped all the way to the floor between the sofa and table, thinking with irritation that this was the _last_ time those patio doors got shattered. He was replacing them with something unbreakable this time. Glass had been an idiotic choice for which he blamed Jonas.

Hatred’s instincts as a guard must have told him to do the opposite, because he pulled his weapon and launched himself to his feet before the glass had even finished hitting the ground. This meant he got off a barrage of shots before a dozen tranquilizer darts buried themselves in his chest. He didn’t go down immediately, firing off the remaining two rounds and staggering several steps, but he didn’t stay upright long enough to reload.

Perfect. Just perfect. At least he’d collapsed close enough to the coffee table that Rusty could use him as an additional shield. That was the _only_ good thing about the situation, unless you counted the fact that the boys and Jane were out of danger. Rusty wished _he_ was out of danger, too. If he’d known Hatred was going to get himself taken out in the first thirty seconds, he would have gone along to the Amazon after all!

It sounded like at least half a dozen henchmen. The decoration on the darts sticking out of Hatred told me this was The Monarch again, but he hadn’t heard Malcom’s grating voice yet. He’d probably found out that Brock was going to be away and sent a bunch of his nobodies to bring him Dr. Venture. Yes, that sounded like his style. It was a pity the panic room was all the way upstairs. Convenient for attacks in the middle of the night, but not so much when you got arched before dinner. There was no chance of him making it across the living room and up the steps without getting hit. Which he’d rather not do, since he always seemed to wake up with a pulled muscle in his neck or back afterward.

He’d rather not stand up and surrender, either, but he was past the point in his life when he could smash Hatred’s empty beer bottle on the table and take out one of the henchmen himself. Rusty looked around for some other form of cover or weapon. All he had was his watch. It was worth a try. “Brock,” he said softly and urgently, pressing the emergency button. “Brock! Have the OSI send someone else over, Hatred’s down and—”

Somebody stepped around the coffee table and onto his hand. “Ouch!”

“I got him!” The goon in the ill-fitting butterfly outfit sounded so excited, so pleased with himself. Probably new to the job; none of Malcom’s henchmen seemed to last very long. “Come on, Dr. Venture,” he said, removing his foot and grabbing Rusty by the arm instead. “You’re coming with us.”

“To Newark?” He wrinkled his nose, as though setting foot in New Jersey was the most distressing part of the entire situation.

The henchman exchanged glances with one of the others as Rusty got to his feet. Five of them, glass all over his carpet again, and no sign of The Monarch, his wife, or 21. It was almost insulting. No, scratch that, it _was_ insulting. Why had he let H.E.L.P.eR. go along as well? Yes, he was fond of the boys, but having anything around to serve as a distraction right now would be very—

There was a faint chime from the hallway that indicated the elevator. Several of the henchmen looked around in confusion for the source of the sound. Morons.

Jane walked into the room, donning her favorite red yoga pants and one of her spandex tops. This one was white, bordering on translucent. She stopped dead a few steps in, taking in the situation. Several of the henchmen were competent enough to have trained their weapons on her, though only one had actually fired. That shot missed her by at least a yard, confirming his suspicion that these henchmen hadn’t seen much action.

Even from a distance, Rusty could see her eyes widen. And then she smiled.

“Hi,” she said in a voice that was _far_ too friendly for the occasion. She took a few more steps into the living room, still smiling. “I like the weapons, that’s a nice touch.” The henchmen exchanged more confused looks. This time Rusty felt the same way they did. What was she up to?

Jane put her arms above her head in a full body stretch, catlike and provocative. Nobody else moved. “I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said, still smiling. “I can see you’re all busy.” She kicked her shoes off.

“Don’t move,” one of the henchmen holding Rusty said uncertainly.

Jane laughed lightly. “Alright, I won’t come any closer. But I’m not a threat. Here, strip search me if you want.” She pushed her pants down her thighs, bending over to pull them off her feet.

“Er, you don’t have to—” A different henchman objected weakly.

Jane raised her eyebrows and smiled slyly. “No, it’s fine, really.” She pulled her top off as well. She never wore a bra with shirts like that, and today was no exception. Holding her arms out to the sides, she turned in a slow circle for the benefit of anyone looking. Her panties were pink and lacy. The grip of the henchman holding Rusty’s arm slackened slightly.

“There, see?” She beamed at all of them, as though they’d done something impressive rather than stand there like idiots. “No hidden weapons, nothing. No threat. Unless you want to do a cavity search?”

The henchmen exchanged looks again. It was hard to read their expressions, given the way their masks covered half their faces, but he could guess what they were thinking. It would be something along the lines of _They never covered THIS in training! What a smokeshow. We can’t shoot her! What are we supposed to do? She’s practically naked!_

Jane took a step closer, despite promising she wouldn’t. Nobody fired a tranquilizer into her. “Nobody wants to do a cavity search?” It was quite impressive, the way she managed to look disappointed by that. “Well, look, I hate to ask…” She cleared her throat, sounding faintly embarrassed. “But if you’re not going to shoot me, do you think maybe you guys could do me a favor?”

“We’re not letting him go,” warned one of the guys near the door, who seemed to have a few of his wits about him still.

Jane rolled her eyes and laughed again. “That is _so_ not what I was going to ask. I’m just…well…see…” Rusty had never seen her hesitate to state what she wanted before. That felt like a clue, and it was the only thing that stopped him from blurting outraged objections at what she said next. “I’ve always wanted to be in one of those internet videos…I mean, the kind you _see_ on the internet, not that I necessarily want to be recorded…but you know what I mean, right?” She took a few more steps closer, looking straight at the nearest henchman.

“Look, lady, we’re just here for the doctor,” said one of the others uneasily. The one she was moving toward didn’t say anything at all, though the small tent in the front of his uniform said a great deal.

“You can have him.” She raised one bare shoulder before tugging one side of her panties down a few inches. “Tie him up or whatever, I don’t care.” She did the same thing with the other side. “I just want you to have _me_ , first.” She let them fall around her ankles, stepping daintily out of them as she approached her target. “Please?” She was close enough to touch him, but somehow pitched her voice for everyone to hear while keeping it low and seductive. “You know the kind of video I mean, don’t you?”

“I—I—” The henchman in her crosshairs gulped before squeaking “I think so?”

Jane smiled and trailed her fingers down the front of the butterfly costume. “Sure you do. The kind with one girl…five or six guys…zero holes left unfilled?” She looked over his shoulder, making it clear the invitation was for everyone. “I’ve got condoms up in my room, if you guys want to come up…? You don’t even have to take your masks off. It’s kind of hot.”

She’d chosen her primary target well. Whatever willpower he’d had, she’d taken it apart brick by brick. He put a hand nervously on her left breast, and when she breathed out in excitement he pulled her in close and kissed her.

Rusty turned his face away in disgust but turned it back almost immediately. It was hard to look away, though he certainly didn’t want to see this. Yes, it was clearly part of some kind of plan, but it was trashy and frankly embarrassing. No, he wasn’t jealous, not a bit. He clenched his teeth.

“Don’t let her get you alone, Nine,” one of the henchmen further back warned.

Jane carefully extracted herself from Nine and moved toward the speaker. “Don’t worry about him. I don’t want to get any of you alone. That’s kind of the point.” Rusty couldn’t see back there very well, but craning his neck gave him a view of her whispering something in the man’s ear before sinking to her knees. Wait, why was he making an _effort_ to see this? Because he had to _know_ , most likely. Because he was sincerely hoping there was more to her plan than there seemed to be.

“Hey, what about me?” the henchman holding Rusty’s right arm suddenly demanded. “I’m stuck holding this guy!”

“I got him,” the one holding his left arm responded. “I’m not touching this!”

“You don’t want to?” asked his friend on the right. “How many times in your life do you think you’re gonna have a naked girl that looks like that _begging_ for it from you?”

The one on the left stubbornly shook his head. “There’s only one of her. I don’t need to get that close to four other guys’ dicks, thanks. That’s gay.”

“It’s not gay!” Ah, Number Nine had decided to speak up.

“There’d be like a centimeter of skin between your dick and his,” shot back the other. “If that’s not gay, I don’t know what is!”

“Six, man, _look_ at her!” protested the one to his right. “You are never going to make it with a chick like that in a normal situation, ever. Carpe diem, bro!”

“I don’t want to carpe anything,” Six said decisively, shaking his head. “We’ve got Dr. Venture, now let’s get out of here.”

“Your loss.” Jane straightened back up, tossing her head. “Are the rest of you coming upstairs with me?” She didn’t wait, trusting them to follow as she strolled toward the staircase. Which two of them did, immediately. Another one peeled off nervously, looking over his shoulder as though he expected someone to jump out and yell at him, but he trailed them up the steps. The remaining two henchmen looked at each other, then looked away hurriedly.

“I’ll just, ah,” said the one who wasn’t Six. “Go check on them.”

“Come on, at least help me get him tied up first!”

“Just hold the tranq gun against his throat. If he makes a wrong move, worst thing that happens is he turns into dead weight and we have to help you carry him back.”

“You guys are sick.” Six shook his head, but let his friend go. “Okay, Venture. You’re going to sit here nice and quiet while I turn on the tv, or I’ll fire this thing. Got it?” He waved the weapon around in a way that suggested he barely knew how to use it.

“Yeah,” Rusty agreed, casting an unhappy glance toward the second floor. “That sounds pretty good, actually.” Jane _did_ have a plan, right? He nudged Hatred’s unconscious form with his foot.

The bedroom door slammed shut. Both Rusty and Six immediately looked in time to see Jane, but neither of them was expecting her to vault over the railing and land directly behind them on the sofa, where she didn’t hesitate to jerk her elbow into Six’s head. It caught him in the ear and he howled angrily, randomly firing his weapon at her. Rusty bumped into him just hard enough that the shot missed, after which Jane promptly executed a fierce kick into his shoulder. It looked like it hurt. Six dropped the gun, and she immediately scooped it up.

“Fuck,” she said, only slightly breathless. “I was aiming for his throat that first time.”

“You would have crushed his windpipe,” Rusty responded without concern, climbing over the back of the sofa. “I didn’t know you could do that.”

“What, you think I’ve been taking kickboxing lessons for four years without learning self-defense?” Still stark naked, she fired into Six’s back. He slumped over, sliding off the sofa and onto Hatred almost at once. “Any idea how many darts these things carry?”

“Afraid not. I didn’t mean the kicking so much as the jumping.”

“Damn. And thanks. I’ve been taking lessons from Hank.” She started back up the steps.

“Er, where are you going?”

“The panic room, where do you think? They’re not going to stay down for long.” Sure enough, a half-naked henchman was already staggering out of her bedroom, one hand clutching his genitals protectively. Jane aimed the gun at him, but it must have been empty. She threw it at his head instead, where it connected with an unpleasant _thunk_.

Electing not to waste any more time, Rusty raced up the steps, darting passed her on the way into his bedroom. He made it into his closet, nearly activating its panic room function before Jane was inside. He caught himself just in time, waiting until she’d slammed the door shut behind her.

“Well.” He sank to the floor in relief as the room sealed itself securely. “That’ll be fun for Brock to clean up when he gets back.”

She snorted, then clapped a hand to her mouth. “Oh fuck! Hatred!”

Rusty shrugged. “It’s not as though we could have hauled him all the way up the stairs anyway. The man weighs a ton.”

Jane lay down flat on the carpet, staring at the ceiling and pulling in several slow, deep breaths. Since she was still nude, he watched her chest as it moved up and down.

“You…ahem.” No, it was better not to ask. Wasn’t it?

“Yes?” She opened her eyes, mouth twitching in amusement. Wonderful, she already knew what he was going to say.

“You didn’t go through with it, did you?”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I totally fucked four guys in three minutes. Why don’t you just say straight up, Jane, I’m a paranoid, jealous control freak?”

“Come on now, that’s a bit much!” He was relieved, though. Of course. There hadn’t been time. And yet… “Would you have?”

She met his eyes without flinching. “What do _you_ think?” When he didn’t answer, she grinned. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“For what?” He settled more comfortably against the wall. “I don’t recall asking you to whore yourself out. Or even to try to rescue me, for that matter. I had the situation under control.”

Jane sat back up, the corner of her mouth twitching ferociously. “You are so full of shit!”

“Are you saying you don’t believe I could have gotten out of that myself?” Rusty demanded indignantly.

“Yes,” she said without hesitation. “Absolutely, yes, I’m saying that.” She crawled forward until her face was inches from his. “I’m also saying that I am _super_ horny right now. In case you were wondering.”

He turned his face to the side. “I don’t think I’m in the mood just now. You probably picked up herpes from kissing that henchman.”

“You’ve got to be kidding. Those kids? I doubt most of them have been laid in their lives.”

“Oh really. Had some nice long get-to-know-you chats with them, did you?”

The laughter in her eyes dried up. “Okay, you can drop the jealousy shit now. It’s not cute.”

“Well pardon me if I’m not aroused by the thought of you filling every hole imaginable for a bunch of cut-rate goons who dress up as _butterflies_!”

“You’re seriously not going to fuck me right now.”

“No!” Even if she hadn’t gotten herpes, she probably _tasted_ like henchmen.

“Hmph.” She sat back, crossing her arms under her breasts and glaring resentfully at him. “Maybe I should have gone through with it after all. Ungrateful ass.”

“By all means.” He spread his hands. “Go back out there and enjoy yourself.”

“Yeah, I’m sure they’re all big fans of me right now,” she snarled.

“So what,” he replied with contempt. “I bet you like it rough.”

Outrage flashed across her face. “Will you fucking _listen_ to yourself? You think I _want_ that?”

“Since you got in here fairly dripping with desire,” Rusty said icily, “yes.”

“Unbelievable,” Jane exclaimed angrily. “I did all that to _protect_ you, because for _some_ reason I _kind of_ care about you being safe! And you act like I deserve to get gang-raped for it? Fuck you!”

He hadn’t meant _that_. She was overreacting! And how was he supposed to respond, when he’d just had to watch her plaster her naked body all over other men? He wouldn’t force her into admitting they were dating, alright, let her have that illusion of independence. But as far as he was concerned, she _was_ his girlfriend, and he’d be damned before he let her whore herself out for any reason whatsoever.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, which was as close to an apology as she was going to get. “You’re being unreasonable.”

This did not mollify her whatsoever. “Oh, I’m supposed to be reasonable after doing a striptease under pressure, taking out five guys, and sprinting to a panic room where we’re going to be stuck for who knows how long? I’m so sorry I wanted to do something that would distract me from all that for five minutes.” She fumed silently for a moment before adding “I can’t control the way my body reacts, you know.”

“Well excuse me, little miss hypocrite, but _I_ can’t control the way _I_ react, either!” It wasn’t as though he was avoiding sex just to punish her. He could, perhaps, on occasion, be petty. He wouldn’t cut off his nose to spite his face.

“You—” she started angrily before stopping short. “You know what,” she said in a much calmer voice, “that’s actually fair. I just, um.” She took a deep breath and released it slowly. “My adrenaline’s so high, I’m all over the place.”

And _that_ was undoubtedly as close to an apology as _he_ was going to get. “Perfectly understandable,” he assured her.

She sighed in what he thought was relief and lay back down on the floor, crossing her arms behind her head to make a pillow and falling silent. It was impossible to tell what was going on inside her head. He waited, seeing if she’d decide to say something. After a few minutes he thought to ask, “You’re alright, aren’t you?”

“Hm?” She turned her head toward him. “Oh. Yes. Just thinking.”

He raised his eyebrows inquisitively, waiting to see if she wanted to expand on that. She did not. “Well then,” he said, bending his arm inward so that he could see the screen on his watch. “If you don’t mind, I better call up Brock and tell him what an interesting evening we’ve been having.”

Jane went back to staring at the ceiling blankly, which he took to mean she had no objections. “Brock?”

“Oh, there you are.” Brock sounded bored—but then, he almost always sounded bored. “You went dead after that emergency call half an hour ago. I just turned the plane around.”

It had only been half an hour? And more importantly, “You waited half an hour to turn the plane around after an aborted emergency call?”

“We were literally forty from our destination, Doc. I only turned around because Dean felt guilty.”

“Are the boys still with you?”

“No, I just stuck parachutes on them and shoved them out over the Amazon. What do you think?”

He supposed Brock thought that was funny. He sniffed. “Well, you can turn _back_ around and deliver them properly if you need to. We made it safely to the panic room, no thanks to you.”

“Really?” Brock was unimpressed. “Thought you said Hatred was down.”

“He was—still _is_ , as a matter of fact. We had to leave him in the living room.”

“Ah, that’s nice.”

“Brock, are you even listening?”

“Not really.”

Jane crossed her arms over her chest and rubbed her shoulders, finally realizing she was naked and the air conditioning was running full blast. Fortunate, then, that the panic room was also a closet. She got to her feet and started looking through his clothes, not remotely interested in the conversation he was having with Brock.

Now that he was on the verge of recounting the past half hour, Rusty felt the need to make it sound as impressive as possible. And really, he decided as he watched Jane examine a flannel shirt he hadn’t worn in decades, it _was_ impressive. She’d taken out five henchmen on her own, with no time to prepare—and according to her, she’d done it for _him_. Maybe a bit of bragging was in order.

“Well, you should be! _Jane_ just did your job for you.”

“Nah. She did Hatred’s job for _him_.” This time, there was a notable thread of curiosity in Brock’s voice. “What’d she do, exactly?”

“Only eliminated five henchmen with no preparation or weapons.”

If she’d noticed they were talking about her, Jane gave no indication of it. She selected a button-up shirt that he hadn’t even realized he still _had_ and proceeded to slip her arms into the sleeves.

“Huh. Hank told me he’d been teaching her parkour. Thought he was joking.”

“Oh, she used a lot more than parkour.” Maybe more than a _bit_ of bragging. “Malcom’s goons busted through the patio right in broad daylight—be careful when you come in, by the way—armed with those darts he’s so fond of using. They came in shooting, too.”

“Yeah? How come you didn’t get hit, then?”

“I moved quickly,” he explained. That should have been obvious. “But we were at something of a standoff until Jane walked in and persuaded them to let their guard down with her feminine wiles.”

“What’d she do, take her clothes off?”

“She did a lot more than that. Separated them, knocked them down, and took their weapons.”

“If she took their weapons, why’re you hiding in the panic room?”

Damn it, Brock! “Alright, maybe she didn’t get _all_ their weapons,” he admitted testily. Jane had done up a few buttons in the middle of the shirt and gone back to lying on the floor with her hands behind her head. “But even you would have been stunned at the way she jumped over the railing and kicked one of them out.”

“You don’t say.” He sounded mildly impressed by that.

“She was amazing,” Rusty stated firmly, watching Jane to see if she had any reaction to the praise, but she was still lost in her own thoughts. “In fact, she reminded me of that redhead you used to be so taken with, the one with the eyepatch?”

“Molotov? You can’t compare her to Mol!” Ah, now _there_ was a reaction!

“Why not?” he pressed, smiling to himself. “They’re both intelligent, dangerous, beautiful women. Femme fatales, more or less.”

“Nah.” Brock clearly didn’t care for the comparison. It was amusing, seeing him get riled up. “A _real_ femme fatale uses her sexuality like a knife. Jane swings hers around like a baseball bat.”

Maybe it was just as well she wasn’t paying attention to the conversation—though he wasn’t entirely sure she’d take Brock’s comment as an insult. “Baseball bats are effective, Brock,” he reminded his bodyguard smoothly. “Anyway. They’re all still in the penthouse right now, so you’ll have a nice clean-up job when you get home.”

“Yeah…listen Doc, Hank’s been holding the stabilator while I steer, so can we maybe wrap this up?”

“Oh, good grief.” Why couldn’t he have mentioned that sooner? “Yes, yes, fine. Get Dean there safe and then get back here. I’d like to sleep in my bed tonight instead of on the closet floor.”

Brock had already ended the call before he finished his last sentence. Typical. At least he could be counted on to come home and clear out any remaining henchmen as quickly as possible. Rusty let his forearm continue to rest on his knee, changing the input so that he could see the camera feed from his bedroom. A pair of henchman were sitting on his bed, glaring toward the closet door. One of them appeared to have a broken nose.

“Do you think the OSI could fix it so I can use my real name again?” Jane mused aloud.

So, she’d decided to share all those deep thoughts with him. He looked at her with interest; it was a far cry from what he’d assumed she’d been thinking about. “You want to be known as an Impossible again?”

Jane made a movement that wasn’t quite a nod or a shrug, but something between the two. “I’m going to be thirty in a couple months, and I’ve spent my entire adult life trying to deny where I came from. All I did was mess myself up more. And look at my life now! Where did I wind up? Essentially right back where I started—being amazing at science and getting arched by supervillains. And I’m sick of getting attacked because of who’s currently using me as some kind of trophy. If I’m going to get attacked, I want it to be because of who _I_ am. And I’m Jane fucking Impossible.”

She was still looking away from him, but nonetheless he could see her lips part in a cold smile. “My dad’s an asshole, but it’s like you said ages ago—what has _he_ done lately? Meanwhile, I’m upending Planck’s Constant and developing explosives no one’s ever even _thought_ of, not to mention concocting breakthrough pharmaceuticals, out-thinking villains, and _literally_ kicking ass. _I_ should be the one people think of when they hear the name Impossible! I’m _better_ than him, and I’m not going to make history or headlines with a borrowed name. I wanted to stay out of his shadow? The best way to do that’s not to run away, it’s to stand _up_.”

Finally, she stopped speaking at the door and turned her face toward him. Her eyes scanned his face for understanding, sympathy, perhaps even approval. “At this point in my life, I just want to be me.”

“That seems very sensible,” Rusty said carefully.

She snorted. “No, it’s not. It’s probably really _stupid_. But I’m so tired of running away.”

What could he possibly say to a statement like that? “Yes, I think Brock could get that fixed for you. And it’s not stupid to want to be yourself.”

“I don’t know if I _want_ to,” she said thoughtfully, sitting up. “But there’s not much of an alternative, is there.” She adjusted her position until she was resting against the same wall that he was.

Rusty smiled wryly. That was exactly why he’d given up on telling people his name was Thaddeus. The writing was already on the wall—no matter what he did, he was always going to be Rusty Venture. No point in fighting it. “I’m afraid there is not.”

She slid further down the wall, letting her head drop onto his shoulder. “Damn.”

“Indeed.”

The silence that followed was a profoundly comfortable one.


	13. Chapter 13

“Was that a _chicken_?”

When Rusty had asked if she wanted to tag along on a vacation to Greece, she hadn’t had to think too long. Some exotic little island, especially in October, had sounded too good to pass up. Alright, it wasn’t the Caribbean, but it was someplace she’d never been before and that was a good start. Besides, she’d just gotten the patent on her perfected sleep bombs and some guy from the Army already wanted to come check it out. She deserved a vacation—sleep in, lie around in a bikini listening to music, try scuba diving. Maybe she’d even relax.

She hadn’t realized that Spanakos would look like a picture from a book on Ancient Greece. She hadn’t foreseen a total lack of cars or wi-fi signals. Or the prevalent fish smell. She _certainly_ hadn’t been expecting animals walking around wherever they liked, goats trying to chew on her bag and staring at her with those creepy rectangular pupils.

“Uh, yeah,” Brock grunted, pulling several suitcases up the steep hill in what Jane was starting to think constituted the center of town. He seemed distracted, glancing around as though he expected a villain to jump out from every corner. Jane felt that was pretty unlikely unless they could fit behind a jar of olive oil or transform into a goat.

An actual human appeared in front of one of the sunbaked buildings. Rusty waved his arms enthusiastically at them, shouting out “Spanakopita!” They shouted the word back to him, smiling. She’d watched this exchange take place five times since stepping off the X-12 onto the rocky shore ten minutes ago.

Hank leapt from what she thought was someone’s fence, landing neatly next to a goat and bleeding off momentum as he slowed to a brisk walk. “Where were you?” she asked since it seemed like no one else was going to.

“Just saying hello to the locals,” he assured her suavely. _Locals_ , she assumed, meant _pretty girls_. There had to be a few women his age around somewhere, and it would be just like Hank to sniff them out the second they got off the jet.

“Spanakopita!”

“Spanakopita!”

Jane narrowly avoided stepping in a pile of goat shit.

Rusty put a hand on her arm almost without looking, guiding her confidently around a chicken that didn’t seem inspired to move despite the group of tourists baring down on it. “Nearly there! What do you think? Isn’t it beautiful?”

She blinked, unsure how to answer that. He seemed _excited_ about this crappy island. She wouldn’t have thought it’d be his type of place any more than it was hers, but she’d be hard-pressed to remember a time she’d ever seen him this happy.

Her failure to rave about the place did nothing to dampen his spirits, either. He skipped cheerfully over a hole in the road and took in a deep breath of the salty, humid air. She wasn’t sure he’d even _noticed_ her lack of enthusiasm.

He led them around a corner, and at the end of street, overlooking the ocean, was a large building. It was in the same style as the others she’d seen so far, but the rocks and peeling paint were all over _three_ stories instead of one or two. And there was an awning and some picnic tables out front. Quite underwhelming, from her point of view—but Brock sighed in relief, Hank sprinted off ahead, and Rusty positively glowed with delight.

“Ah, here we are!” As they drew closer, he waved exuberantly to the large graying man who had Hank wrapped in a bear hug. “Giorgios!”

The man—Giorgios, apparently—left one arm around Hank’s shoulder as he turned to greet the rest of them. “Dr. Venture! Good to see you. This man here—he says he is your son, Hank?”

Ordinarily Rusty would have rolled his eyes and sighed at a comment like that, but he only laughed. “I know, I know! It’s been a few years, he’s grown.”

“Grown?” Giorgios appeared to be in his sixties, donning an eyepatch and an impressive mustache. Hank weaseled his way out from under one of his heavily muscled arms. “He’s a _man_ now! Incredible, no?”

“Not so incredible.” Jane actually saw Rusty _smile_ as Giorgios embraced him. She felt a little bit like she’d stepped into the Twilight Zone here. “Boys grow into men. I believe you’ve seen it before?”

Giorgios laughed heartily. “You’re right, my friend! But where is the other one? And who is _this_ lovely lady?”

“Dean’s in the Amazon, studying,” she said before anyone had a chance to answer for her. “And I’m Jane.” She offered her hand, hoping that he’d accept a shake over one of those hugs.

No such luck. “Welcome to Spanakos, Jane!” It wasn’t actually as unpleasant as she’d expected; he smelled more like cheap cologne than fish, and he let her go fairly quickly. True, he left an arm draped over her shoulder, much as he had with Hank, but it could be worse. “Brock, don’t tell me you’re finally settling down? A lot of ladies here are going to be very disappointed.” Giorgios laughed loudly again, wagging a finger at Brock in mock disappointment.

Oh, no. Oh, hell no. She was not going to let anyone get away with thinking _that_. Being mistaken for Rusty’s girlfriend, that was one thing, but _Brock_? They got along fairly well these days, but how _dare_ this burly old Greek assume, just by virtue of her presence on this island, she must be dating Brock?

Instinct took over before Brock had done more than raise his hands in protest, while Rusty was still digesting the implications of the comment and deciding he didn’t much care for it. Jane shrugged of Giorgios’ arm, crossed her own, and arched her eyebrows. “Uh, _no_. Why would you assume I’m here with Brock? Stop talking before you embarrass yourself.”

Rusty hurried up to reel her back in, putting a quelling hand on her shoulder and laughing uncomfortably. “Jane, you’re being rude.”

“ _He’s_ being rude,” she responded, refusing to budge.

“It’s probably a cultural thing! Giorgios and I go way back, I don’t want—”

Giorgios chose that moment to cut back in with another belly laugh. “No, no, it’s quite alright, my friend. My mistake. She has spirit!” _Spirit_ , huh? That wasn’t the term most people used, but she guessed she could accept that. Giorgios next apologized to her directly, which dragged a reluctant but polite smile out of her. “Forgive me, Jane. Mr. Samson has acquired a certain reputation around here.”

“Not just around here,” Hank interjected, diffusing the situation completely. Rusty and Giorgios shared at laugh, Brock looked stoically amused, and Hank lapped up the attention. Jane wandered over to what she _thought_ was the front desk, looking for some brochure or drink menu or something to pretend to look at it so that she didn’t have to engage in conversation. Rusty was asking whether the imperial suite was available again.

Imperial suite? In this place, that probably meant the only room with a flush toilet. “Dibs,” she stated calmly.

“Huh?” Hank had already started playing a game on his phone. The lack of wi-fi wasn’t going to stop him from disappearing behind his technology inside of the hotel, it seemed. She admired his attitude and wished she’d thought to charge hers before they left New York.

“I was calling dibs on the imperial suite,” she reiterated, louder in case no one else had caught it either.

“Dibs?” Giorgios looked to Rusty in confusion. “You are welcome to it, but…”

“But it’s _my_ room,” Rusty explained, smirking at her just slightly. “And as I seem to recall, you don’t like sharing.”

That sounded like a challenge. Well, no way _she_ was backing down. Not when what was probably the only decent room on this island was on the line. Not in a place that was so quiet and removed from her world that she didn’t know how she’d fall asleep on her own anyway. Not when Rusty was dressed like René Belloq from _Raiders of the Lost Ark_ and looking confident enough to pull it off.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, because she couldn’t let her independence slip away quite _that_ easily. “I’m the only lady in the party, of course you gentlemen want me to have the nicest room.”

Brock laughed aloud. Rusty’s eyes narrowed slightly. “It’s such a large room, though. It’d be such a waste of space, using it for just one person. Surely you’d be more comfortable in something a bit cozier?”

Jane smiled thinly. “No, I want the big room. But if you make it worth my while, I suppose I might let you stay there, too.”

“Gross,” said Hank without looking up from his game.

The smug sonofabitch knew he had her on this one. “Jane, dear.” He shook his head in fake disappointment. “I think you must be tired from the flight. You have it backward. _I’ll_ let _you_ join me in _my_ room, provided you can make it worth _my_ while.” He paused to let that blow land before reminding her, “I’m the one paying, after all.”

“Now, Dr. Venture,” she scolded, stepping back toward him and running one fingertip from his cheek down over his lips. “You’re not going to pretend that there’s ever been a time I _didn’t_ make it worth your while?”

Ha, he didn’t have a smooth response ready for _that_. His ego inflated so much it should have popped the buttons on his jacket, but she didn’t really mind. “If you wanted to share my bed, all you had to do was ask,” he murmured, tracing his hands along the curve of her hips.

“Don’t get too full of yourself,” she warned, though it was clearly too late for that. Decades too late, really, but that was alright. She leaned in even closer, closing her eyes as she brushed her lips against the very edge of his mouth. “This isn’t about _you_. It’s about the imperial suite.”

“Of course, of course. Though given the—”

“Ugh!” Hank groaned loudly, tearing his eyes off his phone in order to tilt his head back and share his pain with the ceiling. “Give me the key to _my_ room, Giorgios. They can do this for ages.”

“Kid’s not wrong,” Brock agreed, hefting one of the larger suitcases back onto his shoulder and heading toward the staircase. “Get a room already, you two.”

“That’s exactly what we’re _trying_ to do,” Rusty objected.

“We’re working on it!” Jane complained at almost the same moment.

“You’re killing me,” Brock deadpanned as he proceeded up the stairs. Giorgios, somewhat bemused, passed two room keys to Hank—who ran excitedly up after Brock, nearly stepping on his heels.

Without any sign of embarrassment, Giorgios laughed and clapped Rusty on the back—jolting both of them and completely spoiling the mood. “Congratulations, my friend! I am honored, that you wish to show Spanakos to such a special woman. Miss Jane, you must know—all the years Rusty has been coming here, only once before has he brought along a woman!”

Jane raised her eyebrows at him. “Really. Who was the last one?”

“Why,” Rusty asked airily, not bothering to conceal his smirk. “Are you jealous?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she answered, giving her head a little shake. Giorgios was already finding the key to the suite when she admitted “I’m _curious_ , though.”

“I’ll just bet you are,” he told her, still smirking. No need for Jane to know it had just been Myra, or that bringing his delusional bodyguard along hadn’t exactly been a choice. Truth to tell, he’d never needed defending when he was on Spanakos. It was one of the many things he liked about the place.

It might take some time for Jane to warm up to the place, but he was quite confident he’d get her on board in the end. She was used to the big city, but she was hardly a snob. If he got her to change out of her yoga pants and into one of those fetching little sundresses he knew she’d packed, he’d consider it a victory. He rather liked the idea of her donning one of them as she cheered from the sidelines during the running of the goats tomorrow. That meant he’d need to get her in the mood to cheer, though…

The old-fashioned key turned the lock of the suite with a satisfying click, and the door swung open. “Welcome,” he told Jane grandly, ushering her through, “to Spanakos.”

“Don’t think I didn’t notice you called me _dear_ down there just now,” she said, looking around with an expression that screamed ‘unimpressed.’

“Did I?” Rusty dropped his suitcase between the two beds, checking his watch. Not long before the welcoming committee would arrive. It usually took them half an hour or so to get things together after he’d landed.

She sat down on one of the beds, testing its weight gently. It creaked, and her lip curled. “You also made this place sound incredible.”

“It _is_ ,” he insisted, walking to the small mirror and studying the angle of his hat in the reflection. “Give it a chance, you’ll see! Though I should probably warn you, in ten minutes or so a group of men are going to burst in here and tie us to chairs.”

Jane’s eyebrows shot up. “And I’m supposed to…what, let them?” He nodded decisively, and she scoffed. “Make this place sound _more_ fun, why don’t you.”

“They won’t _hurt_ you. It’s a _tradition_.” This hat made him look quite dashing. He adjusted his tie slightly and turned back to face her. “Just trust me.”

She sighed.

*

“Well? What do you think?”

Jane didn’t say anything, because her mouth was full. That did not, however, stop her from picking up more fresh fig and cramming in another bite. The action spoke louder than her words could have, because Rusty had never seen her cram her face full of _anything_. She savored small bites of peach. She sipped coffee. She daintily licked dollops of whipped cream.

Yet here she was with fig juice dripping down her chin, cheeks so full of the stuff she resembled a chipmunk. Aside from that, she was a vision of loveliness: strappy red sundress that revealed most of her thighs and all of her cleavage, small yellow flowers braided into her thick hair, skin glowing in the decorative lights. She could easily have been a magazine model, dressed like this…but then, she wouldn’t want to. She’d be bored to tears, snapping at everybody, and profoundly lonely. He liked her better here, leaning casually over Hank’s shoulder to see his game, snorting with laughter when a drop of the juice from her chin hit the screen.

He’d never found women particularly…accessible. They were exotic, alluring creatures. He could romance them, oh yes, enjoy their attentions, even fall in love with them. But understand them? The few times he’d thought he did, he had been terribly, terribly wrong. Jane, now she was something different. She’d never even pretended to have any mystique about her, and the longer she stuck around the easier she was to read.

Right now, she was happy.

She wiped her mouth off on the back of her hand and swallowed the last of the fig. “This place is so weird.”

“How so?” Rusty leaned into the edge of the table, taking a sip of wine.

Now her hand was sticky. She licked the residue from her skin. “Well, for starters, they greet you by tying you to a chair. You don’t think _that’s_ weird?”

He shrugged. “Fascinating customs.”

“And the place _looks_ like crap,” she went on, failing to keep her voice down, “but the food is beyond amazing, and everyone seems so…” She shrugged, at a loss for the right word. “Festive?” What she really meant was the way that the locals all seemed so delighted to see them, in a way that went beyond just the influx of some American cash.

“Crap?” Rusty repeated, latching onto entirely the wrong word. “Look at these lights! How about those flowers you found? And wait till you see the ocean!”

She couldn’t help smiling at his enthusiasm. “I saw it when we got here, remember? I saw it when you were showing me around before dinner.” Every. Fucking. Detail. He’d shown her the island like it was his newborn or something.

He flapped his hand at her, dismissing the claim. “You haven’t really seen it. Wait till we’re out on a boat in the sun, looking right down into the water.”

Jane took another bite of fig, savoring the sweetness of it. She’d never have guessed, from the fig newtons she used to get as a rare treat, that the real thing would be this delicious. “And what about this competition you mentioned earlier? Running of the _goats_?” She’d thought he’d been joking until Hank set her straight on that point.

Rusty shrugged. “They have goats! And I’m a legend at that competition, you know.”

Her lip twitched in a smirk. “You might have mentioned it. Just once or twice.”

A young woman brought several platters over to their table. Given the festive atmosphere, it was impossible to tell whether she was actually a waitress or just an excited local. Either way, Hank attempted to buy her a drink. She giggled and shook her head, she but returned moments later with a fresh glass of wine for _him_. Oh yes. Drunk Hank. That was just what the night needed.

Rusty plucked the glass from his son’s hand, setting it next to his own not-quite-empty one. “You’re not 21 yet.”

“That’s not the drinking age _here_ ,” Hank pointed out, making to take it back.

“You’re not going to like it,” Rusty warned.

“Then what’re you worried about?” Hank demanded, reclaiming it. He took a large sip and struggled not to make a face as the tannins hit his tongue. “Delightful,” he proclaimed stubbornly, winking at the girl.

“Damn,” Rusty said quietly into Jane’s ear. “I really wanted to drink it for him.”

She snorted in amusement. “So go to the bar up there and get yourself a refill. Don’t make that poor girl come back here and face Hank again just so you don’t have to get off your lazy ass.”

“Oh, you mean _this_ ass?” He stood, smoothing the back of his jacket to give her a good view. “The one you can’t resist?”

“Yes, look at me struggling to resist.” She took a sip of bottled water, eyes sparkling with suppressed laughter. “Hank, hold me back.”

Hank pretended he hadn’t heard, instead dropping his voice and asking “Okay, so—as a woman, what do you think my chances are with her?”

Jane groaned and shut her eyes, blocking out the site of Rusty walking toward the bar “provocatively” as well as helping her ignore Hank’s question. When she opened them again, Rusty had reached the bar but Hank was still eagerly awaiting an answer.

“Hank, I have to tell you something,” she sighed. “I’m not really a woman. I’m an alien from the planet Dathomir. Can’t help you.”

“Wasn’t that the planet with the witches?”

She raised an eyebrow, impressed. “I wouldn’t have pegged you as the type to read…” She’d been going to say _Star Wars AU_ , but that wasn’t quite it. “…books.” Much more accurate.

It didn’t occur to Hank to be insulted. “It was in Clone Wars. Alright, so as a _female_ , what do you think my—”

“I think your chances will be a lot better if you go talk to her than if you sit here bugging me.”

“ _Touché, madame_ ,” he said in almost passable French. Pity they were in _Greece_ , but it was still a start. She silently wished him luck as he smoothed his hair and made his way in the direction the girl had gone.

That left her alone to trail her finger through the fig juice on her plate and shamelessly lick it off. She wished they’d brought out another plate of figs and goat cheese instead of those little green parcels of what was probably seaweed. Though then again, given how temperamental Rusty’s intestines tended to be, maybe it was a good thing they hadn’t brought any more of that cheese. Now that she was sharing a bedroom and bathroom with him for the duration of the trip, she didn’t really want to hear him spending half the night in the latter.

He hadn’t come back to the table yet, she noticed. A quick glance showed him talking the ears off of a couple locals near the bar; he hadn’t even managed to get more wine yet. His laugh carried over the festive music, but it didn’t sound forced. Whatever the reason, he was _happy_ here. She smiled and looked back to her plate, where her finger had traced a barely visible _Fe 2O3 _with fig juice. Ferric oxide.

Stupid, Jane, stupid. But she didn’t feel especially stupid. She felt incredibly content, actually. There was a faint but warm glow deep inside her, calm and pleasant. Her eyes went back to the bar, where Rusty had begun recounting an animated story with lots of hand gestures and laughter.

Brock dropped onto the bench next to her. “Uh-oh.”

“Uh-oh?” She pulled her focus back to the table, wondering if Hank had managed to get himself into some sort of trouble already.

But Brock didn’t look worried. If anything, he was entertained. “Yeah.”

What, was this a guessing game? She had no patience for it. “What’s uh-oh?”

He flashed her a handsome, vicious smile. “That look. Didn’t think I’d ever see it on _your_ face. Definitely not while looking at the doc.”

She unscrewed her water bottle and took a sip. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Brock laughed. “Yeah, you do. What is it you see in him, anyhow?”

Jane stared out at Rusty again, in time to see him wink and tap the side of his skull knowingly at Giorgios. She had no idea how to answer that. He was arrogant, lazy, selfish, had no ass to speak of, was practically blind without his glasses, made undrinkable cocktails, preferred showtunes to real music, cared way too much about money and prestige, and his ideas of what could be considered seductive were downright painful. And yet…

And yet.

“If you’d asked me a few months ago,” she confessed to Brock, “I would have said safety. I could have everything I wanted without any chance of losing my heart.”

“And did you?” The big guy sounded genuinely curious.

“No,” she said at once, but she wasn’t quite so sure about that anymore. Her heart was still firmly in her chest, not doing somersaults or giving her butterflies or doing anything so uncomfortable and romantic. She could feel it beating normally inside her, calm and content.

And yet.

“He _is_ a brilliant scientist,” she pointed out, and Brock gave her a look of distilled skepticism. “Well, he can be.” Brock raised his eyebrows. “When he puts in the effort.”

“So’s your dad,” Brock pointed out ruthlessly. “And I don’t think you’re too fond of _him_.”

She ran her finger around the edge of her plate, thinking. How _had_ he come to matter so much to her? “Okay…well, he can be surprisingly sweet,” she said, thinking about unrequested massages and assurances that she wasn’t an unlikable dumpster fire of a human being.

Again, Brock looked deeply skeptical. “There’s plenty of guys out there who can be sweet. Most of ‘em do it better than the doc.”

Most of them would have gone about it absolutely the wrong way, though. Compliments and flowers and romantic music, all things she wanted no part of. Guys like Gary, who would sweep you off your feet, but who might also accidentally drop you. She didn’t like those big, scary feelings.

But maybe love didn’t have to be like that. Maybe it _wasn’t_ always butterflies in your stomach, or walking on sunshine, or blissful daydreams. Maybe sometimes love snuck up on you, really quiet, a little bit at a time, like…well, like rust, actually.

Fe2O3.

She took another sip of water, watching fondly as he filled his own wine glass along with several others from an unmarked bottle. “Would you just fuck off already?” she told Brock good-naturedly. “It’s not any one thing, and I don’t owe you an answer anyway.” Wasn’t it enough that she wasn’t denying it? Six months ago she would have sooner fucked a railroad spike than admit she cared about somebody.

And yet here she was. And if she wasn’t denying it to Brock, that meant she wasn’t denying it to herself. So, alright, say she _did_ care about Rusty Venture—not madly, but more than a little. Say he’d slowly gotten under her skin to the point where she wasn’t looking at other men the same way she used to. To the point where she looked forward to hearing what he thought about some passing idea or joke. To the point where she didn’t want to imagine her life without him in it.

How, exactly, had it gotten to that point? She didn’t owe an answer to Brock, but maybe she owed one to herself. She watched him a little while longer, drinking his wine too quickly and acting like an idiot. He’d probably already eaten too much goat cheese and too many figs. He’d taken his hat and jacket off before the first course of the meal, but still managed to slosh red wine on his pants.

And yet she had this impulse to go over there, let him slip his arm around her waist, and help herself to a sip from his wine glass.

“I’m not used to people liking me,” she began, articulating the words for Brock’s benefit even though really she was just talking to herself. “I’m used to them being impressed or amused for a little while before they realize I’m a prickly hedonist with no scruples or social skills. And on the rare occasions anyone _did_ see past that, it was like a savior complex or some shit. They think they can rescue me from myself.”

Brock said nothing, but she kept talking anyway. “With Rusty, I’ve never been anything but myself around him, and he keeps putting up with it. At first, I thought it was just because he was so thrilled to have a woman willing to ride his dick he didn’t care who it was—but that’s not really true anymore.” Not that she wasn’t still willing, or that he wasn’t still thrilled about it most of the time, but she no longer believed that was why he tolerated her.

“I just think he gets me. He gets the science, he gets the alienation, he gets the trauma, he gets the total lack of fucks I have to give about things that don’t interest me. He gets me on every level.” Good grief, she _was_ sounding sappy. Oh well, there were worse things in the world. “And when you realize someone’s crazy enough to like you for who you really are, you start to enjoy being with them. And then one day, it occurs to you that you like them for who _they_ are, too. Our broken parts fit together the right way.”

She shrugged. “So fine, yes, seeing him happy makes _me_ happy. And you know what else? I’m okay with that.” It felt surprisingly _good_ to say it out loud. Another thing she didn’t need to worry about hiding anymore. She was Jane Impossible. She was comfortable with that now. She didn’t _love_ all of it, but she didn’t want to change or hide who she was.

And this was part of who she was. That was all. Simple as that.

Rusty saw her looking in his direction and motioned for her to come join him. She stood up, casting a look toward Brock that _dared_ him to say anything further on the subject. When she got to the bar, Rusty passed her one of the full wine glasses he’d been pouring. “Ah, here she is now. Nikos, tell her how many sponges I pulled out of the sea the first time I came here!”

“Four,” one of the men obligingly told her.

Jane arched one eyebrow. “Is that impressive?”

“Yes,” Rusty informed her with a trace of sulk.

She grinned and tapped the edge of her glass against his. “Spanakopita!”

*

It was hours later that they made their way back indoors, lurching up the steps to their rooms. No, that wasn’t entirely true. Brock didn’t do any lurching. He was absent, probably already off with one or two gorgeous women. Hank hung onto the railing, whining about a headache. Whether it came from an excess of red wine or the punch he’d gotten from the boyfriend of a local girl was unclear. Rusty was _barely_ staggering, and that was more from exhaustion than anything. Besides, Jane had her shoulder jammed under his arm for some ridiculous reason, and she kept bumping into him as they made their way upstairs.

“I’m adding crappy Greek wine to the list of things you’re not allowed to eat,” she announced, groping him in the hallway beside their door. He was just moving to touch one of the breasts that was practically spilling out of her dress when she removed her hand from his pocket and turned her attention to the door. It clicked and swung open. Ah. Yes. The key. What was it she’d been saying?

A list of things he wasn’t allowed to eat. “You don’t eat wine,” he corrected her wisely as she dumped him onto the nearest bed.

“You know what I mean. Roll over.” Rusty crawled further into the comfort of the mattress, searching for a nice cool pillow. “Roll _over_! I’m trying to get your clothes off.”

“I’ll bet you are.” He pushed against the mattress helpfully, flopping onto his back. Better. He could look up at her this way. And touch her. Smart woman. He directed his hands back toward her breasts as she leaned over, working on the buttons of his shirt.

“Why is it always _buttons_?” she sighed, her fingers slowly pulling the fabric apart. “Would it kill you to wear a zipper once in a while?”

“A _zipper_?” Cheap and unfashionable. Buttons had class. Jane got to the last of them and started working his belt loose. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“That’s why I said it.” She pulled it free of the buckle.

“I saw the way you were looking at me over dinner,” he told her knowingly, sliding a hand inside her dress. “I’m surprised you were able to wait till we got back here.”

She snorted. “Believe it or not, _dear_ , I’m not really looking to have sex right now. Mostly because you are way too drunk for it to be any fun.”

“I am not!” he exclaimed indignantly.

“Yes.” She tugged his slacks off, leaving his underpants. “You are. I’m not sure you can even make it under the sheets.”

“Of _course_ I can,” he told her, sitting up and promptly falling off the bed.

Her bright peal of laughter reached him before he’d even processed what had happened. Alright, maybe he’d had a _few_ too many drinks tonight. Still, most of it could be attributed to jet-lag and too much excitement. He _was_ feeling rather tired, now he thought about it. Bed wasn’t such a bad idea. He pulled himself up on the brass frame and lay down on the sheets that had magically turned themselves down. “I’m fine,” he muttered grouchily, clumsily pulling them up to his neck. “Just tired.”

“If you say so.” She leaned over once more, plucking his glasses off of his face and setting them on the nearby table. He could hear the laughter in her voice but was too drowsy to be much bothered by it. In fact, he was already half asleep when he felt the covers move away on one side, replaced by the press of warm skin.

“Jane?” he blinked, lifting his head off the pillow. There were two beds in the room, and hadn’t she said she didn’t want to have sex…?

“I think I’ll sleep here, actually,” she informed him, curling around his side and resting her head just above his shoulder.

The confusion cleared as a memory from earlier in the day surfaced. “Because you can’t sleep without the sounds of the city?” She’d mentioned that, when he was showing her around before supper.

She touched his cheek with a surprising amount of tenderness. “That’s one of the reasons.”

The touch felt nice. He turned toward her without thinking about it. “What’s the other?” he asked, eyes still closed.

The pause that followed felt so long he assumed she wasn’t going to answer, and started to drift off again. Jane might miss the sounds of the city, but he always slept like a baby here.

“Because I want to,” she said simply.

“Oh. That’s nice.” He let his arm fall over her waist.

For the first time in over a decade, Jane gave the sort of soft kiss that didn’t demand anything at all. “Yeah,” she agreed, snuggling a little bit closer. “It is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to those of you who read all 90,000+ words of this! I know there aren’t a ton of people out there rooting for Rusty to get laid, let alone find love. But once I’d written a few conversations between him and Jane, I knew they belonged together. 
> 
> I don’t normally ask this, but please leave a kudos or comment if you enjoyed it. I keep looking at the “60 hits, 2 bookmarks, 0 kudos” and wondering if you all read it but hated it or what :P


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